as of late, circumstances have been causing me to ask that, "why?", question to God. why would he let this happen? why would he even ask this of me? why have i felt this way? why can't i forgive?
i was already feeling like i didn't have much room asking God these questions, after i read the shack. i felt like my situations were nothing to that of the character's in the book, and it brought reality to me in an annoying way.
then last night i watched steven curtis chapman and his family on larry king, talking about the death of their youngest adopted daughter.
and it made me think of how my aunt held two of her dead babies in her arms. or one of my closest friends and the selfless love for her baby. or the people i met in haiti - whose struggles day in and day out, make our complaining unbearable. i think of the little boys and girls i tutored last year, who each had a different story of broken homes, or a dad in prison.
all these stories far exceed the smallness of my own questions. these stories somehow broaden my understanding, but at the same time, make me wonder more ...
these stories are powerful, and will be used.
how will my story play out - so it can be used?
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