Yesterday was Sunday and all over the world people were going to church and talking to Jesus and giving him praise. I'm not one that goes to church every Sunday and until quite recently we had a pretty decent relationship. I pray on a daily basis-giving a lot of thanks and usually making requests for people in need. I talk to him driving to work, riding the horse or motorcycle, cleaning, and just walking. I talk to him just like a friend and just like a friend can do, He pissed me off. Really, really pissed me off. It's been over a week now and I'm still mad at him for taking my mom. I know He created the universe. I know He is all-knowing and with that knowledge, He knew how much she was still needed here. We made plans for Memorial Day-plans to pick blueberries-and preordered "Turkhens". I understand He has a master plan, but he could have given me some kind of heads up. She could have looked sick or sad when I saw her just five days before her death. God could have given me some kind of signal to stop and talk to her more than just an hour. He could have nudged me forward to give her one last hug instead of just squeezing her hands. I don't understand why these things could have such a huge impact on the world and they might make me feel a little bit better. I guess it's all part of the "Master Plan" but that doesn't mean I have to understand or like it. I'm trying to get past that angry stage. Already, I know that I had my mom a lot longer than my dad had his mother. Longer than my husband had his. I'm thankful that we had the relationship that we did. There are lots of great memories and photos for which I am eternally grateful. Really I am, but then something happens and I pick up the phone to call her and that anger resurfaces followed by a stab to the heart. I guess at some point I should feel blessed-I have so many people around me that care and want to make things better. My children have been incredible. My remaining parents (all three of them) have been towers of strength and good examples for me to follow. My husband has shown me a caring side of him that I never knew existed. He's always been sweet and lovable, but he understands and shows compassion in a way I never thought possible. It's one thing to know how much creamer to put in my coffee or when to give me chocolate-it's another thing to know when to just hug me and say the right words. He understands the need for speed to get past a cementery and looks the other way when I laugh hysterically when someone mentions "Amazing Grace". I guess I should offer another prayer of thanks, but I'm still working on the anger issue.
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