Year after year day after day, Iv tried to be cheerful and laugh of the sorrow and pain, both physical and mental.
Imagine that you cried real tears last at the age of 10 the next time real hot salty tears was at the age of 41 years of age in between your grandma died and you loves hear deeply, your wife’s younger brother is killed by a truck he was 17 year’s old, allegedly you told yourself that you had to be strong. You lied. Your heart was sore, so sore but not a true tear could you ahead, your wife lost a child prior to birth no tears at any if these events .
You thought your heart had grown cold, you thought you did not care.
But you lied to yourself.
When your daughter ran away from home to be with a boy who was not worthy of here love, when your daughter was living like a hobbo , pregnant and on the street and you wondered where God was?.
Where is God you wonder when you looked into the eyes of your Saintly father and knew in your heart in a few short hours he would be in heaven
Was God when then the paramedics pulled your other child from the wreak that was a car I’m which others died,
Thank God the grand children we’re not in the car
But where oh where was God when you stood next to the hospital bed and prayed, for your child.
And did you not fee lo the absolute bastard as you brought your child home known that another home there was weeping for a child lost and a child orphaned.
Where was God was you watched as your mother lay dieing like a sick animal.
And where is God now as we face another evil, where, where is God now when all have departed from us in this an hour of our need.
I WONDER what great sin I have committed that this life is so filled with sorry? From cradle to grave sorrow dogs my every step
I do no that God is real there have been many, many confirmations
of this but where, where is God.
Now I have illness in the home and great tribulations, but where, where is the Lord our God.
Comfort not your conscious with sweet nothings, rather comfort your conscious with practical love and not condemnation of me or mine.
Remember not my limitations, but how far we have come against all odds and against the winds.
Remember that in 50 years I have only really cried twice, pray God the third time be not on my deathbed.
And do not think comfort will come to you as you weep over my wooden box and be not consoled when the platitudes of the funeral emotions run high and you call me a good guy because I was not do not therefore lie over my coffin box (cheap Chipboard imitation of real wood just like your grave side praise).
Note I you & we are interchangeable throughout the narrative