Disappointment

So many emotions fill this recent journey of mine. Today as I sat in church, listening for God and praying over and over, "God, let your will be done, let your kingdom come in this decision Bob will make", my mind wandered to his possible answer of "No, it will cost us too much as a family." And suddenly tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of disappointment. As those tears flooded my face and my husband handed me his handkerchief, I realized the disappointment went much deeper than the possible future meeting.

Disappointment. Disappointed in God for one. Though I stopped shaking my fist in God's face and let go of the anger over a loving father allowing such a horrendous thing to happen, I find disappointment remains. Hmmm. I know that this is my stuff, not God's. How must I align my understanding of God to not feel he let me down? Or do I simply acknowledge the disappointment and let it go too?

Disappointment in church and pastors runs deep. Fear of them runs deep. A year ago, I could not have entered a church without a Xanex to get me through it. Today I attend regularly but I can't join. And often I feel disappointed in the church. I spent a great deal of my life feeling that way.

Disappointed that a time of my life that should have been a time of jubilation was not. This morning we celebrated both Mother's Day and graduation Sunday. We celebrated 9 young lives who will soon move on to college or careers. They looked so young. And then I cried more. No telling what the people at this church, where emotions are not readily shown in the service, must think. The tears would not quit flowing.

Tears. I think these were healing tears and at two points I felt an overwhelming sense of God's presence.

Later today, once again I fell into the feeling of desperation of needing to see Bob. I just have to finish this no matter how. Then I remind myself that "No, I will not repeat the 17 year old's path. I will not seek his approval and pat on the back and sacrifice my need to get it." Twice now that has surfaced and twice now I have realized what was happening.

At 17 I was deeply disappointed in myself. At 51 I am proud of the 17 year old who made it through the abuse. I want to put my arms around her and tell her "I am not disappointed in you. You survived and I am proud of you."