There's a dull ache resonating where Gracie should be. Tears still rest close to the surface and overflow at silly things, like watching my teenage nieces braiding each others hair.

Im not angry that Grace died. Not exactly. I trust in Jesus.  I believe that the Almighty God that knew the beginning and the end before the foundations of the earth were laid, has a plan. Im not angry at his plan. Not completely.

Im not angry that my friend's daughter is healthy and due next week. Im sad. I am heart crushingly sad. But I am not angry.

Everyone says its okay to be angry. But I refuse. I throw my anger on the giant's face and fight hard not to fix my eyes on him. I know that if I stop worshipping, I stop trusting. If I stop trusting, I start to panic. The all out crazy lady kind of panic because my baby is gone and in a box, in a field, and everything in me wants to rush there and scream into the night. I know that if I do that, I will not recover. I know I will not rise up and walk away. I know the anger will take root and ruin me.

I dont have time for poison. I have her brothers to raise. I have a Savior to point them too. I have a giant to fight back every moment of everday. I can't do that if I'm angry. I cant do that if I stop trusting. I can not do that if I stop worshipping.

I am weary of the sadness. So I worship.
I want her back. So I worship.

And He is near.
And I weep, and weep, and weep.