Hated or Loved?

My mother hated me. It had to be true. Why else would she let me lay on a cold, hard table or leave me to look at a monster of twisting, shining metal light above me? Why would she allow a woman in a white dress to keep sticking that long needle in my arm and take out my blood?

What I had done to make everyone so mad at me that they would punish me like this? Couldn’t someone tell me? Maybe I continued being bad since my parents brought those awful needles home and stuck me with them every single day. Even when my mom shook and had to wipe her tears away, she still did it.

No matter how much I pleaded for all of it to stop, the unending needles, tests, and doctor appointments continued. Life became a balancing act of low blood sugars, high blood sugars, feeling awful, and being so thirsty no amount of water could take away the dryness in my mouth.

Through all of the tears and complaints, my parent’s goal was to keep me alive. Though the shots for the new thing called diabetes were torture to me, they were what I needed to stay alive.

As the years went by, Dad made me study diabetes so I would learn how to care for myself. But the facts didn’t heal the frustration inside. So, my parents chose to do what was best for me even when I didn’t understand. Even when I cried. Even when they cried. And especially when I was too young to care for myself.

That’s what good parents do. They love in ways that might not make sense to their child at the time.

They follow their Father’s example.

When God, our heavenly Father, allows unanswered questions to remain, it’s not because He hates us. He doesn’t hate us when one of life’s circumstances beats us up. He doesn’t hate us when dreams seem to crumble through our fingers. He doesn’t hate us. Period.

As the little girl in the hospital bed all those years ago, I couldn’t comprehend what was happening to me. Or why. And though I did question whether my parents still loved me or what I had done wrong to deserve what was happening, deep in my heart, I still trusted them.

God has put the same ability to trust in each of us. There is a special God-sized place inside every heart. A secret spot designed for two beings: us and God. In that place, trust grows. Peace can also thrive as we learn to turn to God in those huge moments when nothing makes sense (Psalm 34:8).

Life will beat us up from time to time. If we allow, God will take the resulting wounds and offer us an opportunity to grow and heal by bringing the precise medicine we need. It could be painful, but if we trust Him, He assures us of His life-giving presence to carry us through every stretching, molding, repairing, renewing moment of life.

When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You. Psalm 56:3 (NASB)

 

Photo Credit: Unsplash-Marcel Scholte

4 Comments

  1. Great reminder that even when it hurts and we don’t understand, Father’s works are always for our best! Praise Him for His tender loving care!

  2. Parents always feel their child’s pain. Living with a cronic illness is not easy but with God’s help we can get through it.

    1. Author

      That is so true, Sherry. Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate you.

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