Smooth and Chisel

Yesterday I woke with a pounding thought ..."where is God taking me?  who does He want me to become?"  It didn't feel heavy or weighted, just a question that persisted, and still does.  Phoebe's last anniversary is different ...where I typically dip deep down, I rise again to the familiar, a life I've grown accustomed to.  Not this time though, the climb has been longer, harder, and while I feel like I've pulled through, have some balance back ...it's all different.  There is something different, a new landscape ...simpler I think, yet more pointed and certain of the pain.  I hear a whisper that encourages me ...'this isn't about what's happened ...it's about what's happening.'  For so long, I have felt God's abandonment, His absence ...even while knowing and trusting He is always there ...always.  I've turned over so many stones trying to understand why He would hide from me, in this time, with this loss.  And now, I understand His craftsmanship, His desire to call me closer ...smooth over my rough edges that keep Him at bay.  That's hard work ...I know ..I'm full of stubborn bumps that resist the chisel.  For months I've clung to my rosary, spoken to God all day, searching for His eyes and not finding them.  I've prayed and cried to the Blessed Mother knowing her gaze is upon me ...and while I feel her eyes, I've refused to look into them.  I've wanted what I can't have ...never have I wanted anything more ...there is no word for the wanting of a dead child ...no word!  But now, I look less outside for the answers.  If you know my story, you know it.  If you don't, you likely won't hear it from me.  The days of reaching out seem past. 
I work with a young nurse last night, certain she has heard.  Gently, she probes me.  It's not a story for her.  'How many kids do you have?'  'Seven', I tell her.  'That is sick, I would never have that many kids, you must be crazy.'  Inside I chuckle, she's so, so young.  She waits a moment, but I know its coming ...' How are they all doing?'  I stop what I'm doing and look her in the eye ...'they're all fine, my oldest daughter died last Fall.'  "Oh yeah, now I remember hearing about that ...how old was she."  Seventeen I tell her, firmly.  I want to say ...'you know the story, what details would you like ...the method, the moment, the horror?'  Moments later she tells me she'll kill herself if her boyfriend doesn't stop snoring.  I say a Hail Mary.  What does God want in this moment?  Unbelievably, I feel Him asking me for kindness for this young woman with so many miles ahead of her.  I can blow her off, or I can be kind to her and thank her for teaching me so much about patient care ...which she does.  In this outrageous exchange, God exposes my own complexity.  Maybe one day, when she is hurting, she'll remember this moment ...and she'll know she'll make it, survive ...and she'll be kinder in her own moment so much like mine.  Maybe.  Smooth and chisel, it's what He does with us ...and how he uses all of us to do His work.  This young woman unexpectedly opened a wound ...so that I could learn kindness, real, genuine kindness.  How could I not love her if I know she is one of God's instruments to bring me closer to Him, to live more as He wants me?  It is a twist I'm not expecting, but it is there ...and so plainly, simply laid before me ...it makes me laugh. 
I wonder who gets to be His chisel today? 

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen.