Tonight I listened to my 5 month old daughter scream bloody murder for 20 minutes.
Before you call social services, allow me to elaborate. We had errands to run that took much longer than we anticipated, so by the time we headed home, she was famished. Not her fault. Ours.
I’m not talking about fussing, or even crying. I mean screaming. Screaming so hard I was afraid she was going to throw up. She was hot, sweaty, and shaking. It started as irritating. Driving with a screaming child isn’t fun, or easy. It quickly moved from irritating to strangely beautiful. Let me explain.
Rylee wasn’t screaming because she felt like that would be the best expression of the way she was feeling. She didn’t decide, “If I scream, they will listen to me.”
She was screaming because she didn’t have any other way to express to us how she was feeling. That’s all she had.
Have you ever been in that place with God? You want to scream bloody murder at him? Not out of anger, or hate, or any malicious intent, but because you have no other way to tell him how you feel? Maybe the test came back positive, you lost the job, the marriage is over, the kids are lost. I don’t know.
What I do know is this: I’ve been there. I’ve been at the threshold of desperation where I felt like not even screaming could encapsulate what I’m feeling. It might be a start, but it would fall terribly short.
And here’s the crazy part: God is okay with it. He doesn’t ask us to stop. He doesn’t ask us to quiet down, or get frustrated with us. He does with us exactly what we did with Rylee. He reaches down, takes our head is his hands, and whispers, “I understand.”