Through Tears

I ask “why?” so often.
Some questions will never be answered.
There is much I will never understand.
Even in prayer, in scripture, in meditation, and in silent waiting, I have found no explanation.

A little child.
Innocent.
Longing for love, for acceptance, for care, for safety...
Not only rejected, but damaged in indescribable and unspeakable ways by those who should have nurtured, protected, provided, and LOVED.

Why, God?

For what possible reason?

From whence come the blessing in these things?

The Shack, a book recently made into a movie, dealt with some similar subject matter and the loss of a child, dealt with forgiveness and peace after horrible tragedy.  I barely got through the book, and cannot/will not see the film.   I have to get up and leave a theatre, or burn a book I start, because of my visceral reaction if there is any harm or abuse of a child.  I remember becoming ill at one particular scene involving a child in American Sniper... having to hide my face, and make some noise to cover the sounds of it, wanting to throw up and run.

As a parent, I look at my youngest daughter and question how could anyone ever reject such a innocent and trusting angel? Let alone harm her?  She has a fierce protector in me.  I love her with everything I am, just as I love my older two. And yet how many children suffer at the hands of selfish, violent, and demented adults, even their own parents? How many cry into their pillows (if they even have them) at night so no one hears, or have become too numb to cry? How many bear the scars from wounds to their bodies and souls that no time or medicine can heal?

Why, God?

And what can I do? I tried to work in the field before but could not bear it for long, as my heart broke every day. How does one detach their heart (or hands?) from children who just want to be loved, especially as all my heart wanted to do was take them in my arms and love away their tears, wash away their pain, and see them whole?

I hear a cry, a scream, a pleading... and my heart aches in the dust, breaking.  The anger in me boils, wanting retribution for those who cannot defend or protect themselves.

Where is the blessing in those tears?

Why?

Waiting for an answer,

Allyson