Painted Faces - the masks people wear

Are you there God?

      So where was God in all of this? He doesn't leave us alone to suffer – He suffers with us, comes down and joins with us in our trial, cries with us, collects every tear we shed. His is an unfailing love, unbroken despite the world we live in, the horrors we must face. I was not brought up attending church or Sunday School, there was no talk of God or Jesus in my everyday living – none of my family or friends were Christian. I knew the name Jesus, but as a swear word. Somehow that always wounded my spirit, however. My heart knew that was wrong and I cringed. I now know I come from a long line of Christian missionaries – one of the first in New Zealand in fact – and that truly His blessings last through the generations, just as much as generational curses do. Maybe that is why I was drawn to Him.

    Bible in Schools was my introduction – and I still recall the day an elderly pastor came and talked to my class. I was maybe ten years old, and just wished the class would be quiet and behave for him. He gave us all a pen, but he gave me so much more. I saw love shine out of his eyes and I wanted whatever it was he had. So, I went home and demanded a Bible I could read. I don't even know if there was one in the house at that stage. My parents bought me a "Children's Living Bible" – and Dad quipped "but don't think you can preach at me!"

    Now no-one taught me this was a book like no other, and could be read out of sequence; so I read from the beginning and by the time I got to the book of Numbers was really bored and lost. I didn't make it as far as the New Testament, but what I did discover was a God who loved me, who I could trust and talk to. I understood somehow that it was not His fault, desire or doing – the evil in the world, the way we hurt each other so carelessly. I could never be the same; I could never again disbelieve. Although for years I closed and didn't reopen that first Bible, I instinctively prayed; called out to my only hope for rescue and deliverance. And although at times I couldn't sense Him, He was there – always.

    As a parent now I realize that of course He would be there, shielding me where He could, longing for my pain to cease, weeping over the harm others did. Because as a parent that's what you do, right? When your child is hurt you hurt too. You desperately long to protect them, keep them safe. You want to wipe away their tears, heal their broken heart, renew joy, peace and innocence to their lives. God is so much bigger than us, He is our perfect father, His love endures forever and so how much more then would He love His children? Long for all the things we do as parents, for His children? Suffer with them? And be hurt by the choices they make, the places they find themselves because of the broken world they live in? 

Is He the perpetrator of all our strife?

No, but He gave us freewill and all that comes with it.

For me my trauma was so great that I completely blotted it out – for forty years in fact – but my loving father never forgot. He watched the consequences unroll in my life in sadness no doubt. And then He chose a time, the right time, to reveal to me my truth. A time when it would try but not succeed in destroying me.