The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
-John Milton
I had a dream about her Sunday night. We were cuddled up together so close. I would move in to kiss her as I'd always done for years in the past. She would halt my advance and raise her left hand to my face and display her engagement ring. The dream felt so real I'd swear she was in my arms again. Will this sort of thing ever end? Is this the new life I am to live? Even if I manage to capture every thought while I am conscious she is there waiting to remind me in my subconscious.
The dream felt so real. I had her in my arms again. She wanted to be in my arms again. But she would not kiss me. As if she wanted me but chose him. How do widowers carry on? She and I were never married. How do divorced men move on?
This world is so broken.
Michael knew all the possible motives for Amanda's desertion. But beyond that, beyond comprehension, he knew God's will was working. "Why this way?" he cried out in anguish. "Why did you tell me to love her if you were only going to take her away from me?"
He raged at God and grieved for his wife. He stopped reading his Bible. He stopped praying. He turned inside himself seeking answers. He found none. And he dreamed, dark, confusing dreams with forces that were closing in on him.
The still, quiet voice didn't speak to him anymore, not for weeks and months. God was silent and hidden, his purpose a mystery. Life became such a barren wasteland that Michael couldn't bear it anymore, and he cried out.
"Why have you forsaken me?"
Beloved, I am always with you, even to the end of time.
Michael slowed his frenetic work and sought solace in God's word. I don't understand anything anymore, Lord. Losing her is like losing half of myself. She loved me. I know she did. Why did you drive her from me?
The answer came to him slowly, with the changing of the seasons.
You shall have no other gods before me.
-Redeeming Love Chapter 29
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered.
You're Beautiful - Phil Wickham