where is God? by Melissa Rosella

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“What does God look like?” Hope asked.

“What do you think He looks like? Do you think He is a boy or a girl?” I replied.

“I think God is a boy with black hair & brown eyes.” she said.

“Where does God live?” Hope asked.

“Can God fly?” Hope questioned.

“What do you think, Hope?” I replied.

I took a long while to ponder the questions asked of me and truly marveled at my inquisitive blonde-haired gal. Is she really only 5?

I told Hope: “God is in the people we meet. He is in the smiles, the hugs, the high fives, the pats on the backs, the kind words, & the acts of service. He is in your laugh and your brothers giggles. He was with your dad when he went to Guatamala to build homes through Habitat for Humanity. He is in everything that is good in this world.”

Hope was silent, “Where does God live, mom?”

“Look up, look way up, baby.” I replied.

He’s there and he is everywhere you look. Some believe He lives on Earth and resides inside of us. Some believe He is an extension of us, our actions, our words, and our intentions. Some believe that He lives way up in heaven and is powerful & magical to be able to bless the whole wide world all the way up from heaven.

Life is hard, lately.

A dear friend of mine is in the hospital… again. & she’s too far away for me to see her or help her. Wish there was more I could do.

I have so many balls in the air that sometimes I can’t catch them all. I find myself able to do so much and I don’t know how it is possible. I do know how it is possible. God makes a way when there is no way. God makes it possible. Without him, I’d be lost and broken.

Sometimes I wonder where God is. I wonder where he was when a dear friend of mine’s beloved brother was kidnapped and later killed, innocently and brutally, in the forest of theCongo, after dedicating his every waking hour to being of service as a persistent peacemaker and humble humanitarian. He was the light in the dark for so many. He gave up his life in the name of peace. & now he is gone at the age of 34. I wonder where God was when his father had to write the eulogy for his son’s funeral. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m stumped.

I wish my mom’s life was easier, that I could  wave a magic wand across my mom’s face and make her all better. I dedicate a lot of time to making her more comfortable from a far. I do what I can, where I can, and it is freaking hard having a mentally ill mother with parkinson’s and dementia and anxiety and depression. It’s hard to watch. & I have help, thankfully, but it still feels heavy and hard and like I’m walking an uphill mountain. Mom takes one step forward & is kind, one day, 10 steps back & rude, the next, 2 steps forward & sweet the next day, 5 steps back & bitter the next day. I spend so much time talking to insurance companies, pharmacists, psychiatrists, therapists, care givers, and the list continues. & when I talk to mom, she acts as if she does not want to be helped and is almost bitter. There is a lack of gratitude and it frustrates me. Sometimes she treats me like a servant. It’s my turn to take care of mom, as she took care of me all those years. The roles have been reversed. I know it is the mental illness talking when she is defensive, but it is difficult for me and my hands still get a bit shakey when it all gets to be too much for me.

I need to go back to therapy and a NAMI class. It brings me down. It brings me really, really down and I try not to let it, but it’s hard to help someone that will not meet you half way, that has thrown her hands in the air, that has given up, and let’s life take her, instead of taking control of her life and being the orchestrator of her own happiness, destiny, and day. Taking on caring for my mom, from a far, has become much harder than I thought it would be. Brian always chuckles when I say that things are harder than I thought they’d be. I’m an optimist and he’s a realist. Maybe I should become more of a realist. Thank God for my B & his warm heart for my dear mom. He loves her and I love him for that.

Sometimes I feel like my very best is not good enough. Doctors don’t return my calls & still I continue to call them. Mom gets sassy on the phone & it feels as if  I’m talking to a rebellious teenager. The roles have been reversed. I’m the parent and my mom is the child. & when I see her next, she will want me to hold her in my arms and let her weep for the heaviness that she feels and I will hold back my own tears until I am alone. I have two of my own children and now, it almost seems as if I have three. I’m being stretched and I’m growing and we can’t grow in our comfort zone.

How did we get here? What have I gotten myself into?

I carry on and I choose to be the best I can be in this world full of uncertainties, certainties, trials, celebrations, tribulations, miracles, missteps, and mistakes.

I choose to be the light. I choose to carry on. I choose to never give up. I choose to take very good care of myself. I choose to believe that my best is enough. I choose to be kinder than necessary. I choose grace. I choose patience. I choose prayer. I choose to lean on God, as I need him in every niche and cranny of my life every second of my life.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

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