This morning during the music at church, I found myself fighting with myself. There was definitely a battle going on inside.
We were singing some pretty difficult songs. That Chris Tomlin one with the chorus that says, "I'll never know how much it cost to see my sins upon that cross" over and over again. I really felt like I was truly worshipping and recognizing my sinful nature. Like I was honestly there, talking to Jesus and thanking Him for his sacrifice and recognizing my need for it.
A couple of songs later, we sang "In Christ Alone". That's when the tears started. I really love this song. It's so cool how it talks about how it's only in Christ that we can find our identity. And through accepting that and living in the freedom of His sacrifice and victory over death we can have life.
In the midst of that song, I found myself very angry. There's a line that says "till He returns or calls me home, here in the death of Christ I'll live." I don't have a fear of death, but when I think about being "called home" I really get angry. I don't suppose that's particularly healthy. I guess after thinking about it today, I determined that I'm actually not angry about the perspective of being called home, but I'm angry that my sister has been called.
Today was not the only time this weekend that I was called to remember how much vacancy I feel as a result of her death. I spent the better part of Friday at the hospital with a friend's family waiting for her baby boy to be born. In the middle of the day, someone walks up to me inquiring about how I've been. I had no idea who this woman was. She was pretty sure about approaching me though, so I asked point blank, "How do I know you?" She just so happened to be the social worker who came to our house last year on the day that Michelle left our house for good.
So, there I was, trying to be happy for my friend and her family. Trying desperately not to think about how gross I felt to be sitting at the same hospital that my sister had been until she stopped responding altogether. And I find myself face to face with the woman who lovingly and gently helped us to make the decision that the time had come for Michelle to go somewhere else where she could be safer.
I guess I really don't know why it makes me angry, but I'm pretty sure that's what it is.