On telling God to piss off…

and why it’s a very good idea indeed. So maybe not quite what you expected?

It’s a week ago now since I miscarried, for the second time in 9 months. In fact, the first child would have been due a couple of weeks ago. It seems to have been a year of mourning – a cousin, two dear friends, and of course, two precious and much wanted pregnancies. To be honest, I’m feeling a bit battered and bruised.

And in times like this, I wonder where faith fits in. I’m a human, so I assume that because I can’t feel it, it can’t be real. I want the warm fuzzies to be there all the time, but a good portion of the time, faith feels like trudging through quicksand, desperately hoping the map isn’t wrong. Or, at least, that it refers to the right country.

So today, I got angry. I sat in our church chapel (which is basically the best space ever) and told God exactly what I was thinking. Most of it wasn’t very polite. I won’t repeat some of the words I used, especially since I probably can’t spell many of them, but I ended up by telling God to piss RIGHT off.

And then I sat, exhausted. And I looked at the crucifix for a while. I love the symbolism of the empty cross, but today, that crucifix did it for me. Because as I looked at it, one phrase (stolen from Adrian Plass, I think, but true none the less!) repeated itself again and again in my mind.

“I’m in it with you”.

I’m not necessarily advocating swearing at the Almighty. At least not too regularly. But it took me being honest with my feelings, swearwords and all, to realise that I didn’t need to pretend with God. To realise it’s ok to be angry and hurt and resentful with him. Because the cross shows that He’s big enough to take it.

I’ve noticed that if my son is frustrated, it’s me who gets the brunt of it. He’ll hold it together for a while, but then he’ll explode, and if he does, it’s invariably on me. He cries and shouts and stomps (he has an amazing line in stomps!) and I try to soothe him.

And then we get to a point where he’s done shouting. He’s exhausted himself getting rid of all those spikes, and he comes and cuddles up in my arms. He’s given me all those feelings he found so hard to cope with, and he just wants to be held in the safest pair of arms he knows.

I’m convinced that sometimes as humans, we need to do that. I was reminded on Sunday that I don’t need to hold things in with God. I hold things in for Isaac, but with God, I’m not the parent. It’s ok to be the child. And if that’s a stroppy screaming snotty child, that’s ok too.

Yelling in the quiet today, I realised that He’s there too. And as I sobbed after telling Him to piss off, a little voice whispered in my ear.

“I’m going nowhere, precious girl”

And I walked out, smiling, Knowing that my hand was being held. Knowing I wasn’t alone. Knowing that even swearwords don’t keep Him away.

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