Grieving What Wasn't

As mom's illness continues to evolve, my imaginations about her future can take a life of their own. Some nights I can find myself sitting at her dining room table with only my husband & kids, my sister and brother, and Dad celebrating a holiday feast.  Empty Chair.  Other afternoons, I imagine her healthy with a new head of freshly grown hair, and we're out shopping at Pottery Barn or some small local shop downtown Crystal Lake and she's bugging me about whether or not I want some of their furniture for our own house or asking me if I read the newspaper clipping about an old high school flame.  Depending on her health each day, I can find my mind going either direction, but to be truthful, I still end up grieving at the end of each story.

Mom and I haven't had the closest of relationships.

Help me in my unbelief...

"Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe." Mark 9:23 Here's my struggle, and it isn't a new one.  I wrestled with this question quite deeply soon after we lost Anna, our first-born baby girl.  I read and reread the story of the father who had a demoniac son in Mark chapter 9 and questioned whether or not my faith, or lack thereof, could have in anyway affected the outcome of our story. Since that time I have realized how little I have to do with anything, really; it's the sin in my heart that tempts to make myself bigger than I am or the "point" of every narrative.  I struggle  to sit in the background, to acknowledge that God is sovereign above all things, and that really, I have nothing to do with much of anything; only to seek His glory above all else and serve him where he has me.  But, now that I'm in a place of pain again, a vulnerable place of prayer and petition for an outcome I so deeply desire,  I read the story in Mark 9 and get stuck on these words: "Jesus said unto him, if thou canst believe..."