I'm fighting you.

I'm fighting you, you ruthless wet blanket. Wet large sac that keeps ending up over my head. This day has been really skrumpy! I have barely eaten, I slept a lot and still feel very tired, and I cannot seem to stay focused on my work for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. I sound depressed. Intermittent, mild chest pains [anxiety]; throbbing temples [anxiety]; overwhelming urges to cry [anxiety, depression]; thoughts of resorting to poor coping mechanisms [depression + borderline personality disorder]... it's a lot in here. And nothing is good enough. Nothing is working. Nothing is going to work out. I can't do this! Why is there so much/too much to do? Why/how am I still so far behind? BLEH.

Three weekends in a row I have attended/will be attending funeral/memorial services. Saved, unsaved, saved. The unsaved one was mine. The unsaved one was in my bloodline and I'm going to miss him a lot. I haven't thought about it too much since the day after the funeral but come December 26th, I will probably be very upset. It will be the first Boxing Day of my entire life that I don't see my dear granddad -- "Grindy Pop" as we affectionately called him (behind his back). UGH. When people utter well-intentioned "he's in a better place" platitudes, it's like salt in the wound. YOU. DON'T. KNOW. You don't know what happened! There is only ONE "better place" and you don't even understand what it is or how to [through Whom to] get there! Be quiet.



Sigh.

But... one friend wisely quoted Abraham as he spoke to the LORD about whether He would destroy a city full of grievous sin and unspeakable wickedness: "Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

Will He not??? He will, He will! He knows. He knows and judges every heart perfectly and we may rest in that.


Another friend mentioned the dying thief, the man who hung on a cross the same day and in the same vicinity as Christ the Lord. He converted. He surrendered his life to Christ's Lordship at the lastest last minute if there ever was one. No "sinner's prayer", no time for baptism, no chance to witness or walk by faith. But he simply recognised that his death was just punishment and Jesus' was not--and that was enough! So, I am forced to concede that I don't know what happened in my granddad's heart during the five days he was in the hospital before he left. I don't know what barriers may have finally dissolved, I don't know who else may have witnessed to him, I don't know what the Holy Spirit came down and said to him directly. I don't know if Grindy heard me as I pleaded with him, holding his almost-lifeless hand and looking into his his seemingly unresponsive face, the day before he passed. I don't know.

Only One knows and He will do right.

Rest.