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Kaylee Page

You’re focusing a lot on how to control the pain; asking God to change the pain, ever think about just asking God to comfort? Doc said to me a few months back.

I was pissed.  No, No, you don’t get it Doc, I thought, I don’t want the pain. That’s the point. THAT’s why I’m angry with God. Comfort is like giving up. Comfort’s for the weak.

So I did. I wrestled my way with God through my pain.

But then tonight I found myself yelling at God:




And I think God was all like, you ready to try comfort?

So I tried to go all footprints in the sand and stuff, attempting to picture Jesus carrying me. (Which, I've officially picked the piggy-back position instead of newly-wed-crossing-over-the-threshold-carrying position if God’s gonna carry me!) I felt the warmth of the fire and tried to pretend that it was soothing my icey heart.  I stared at my ceiling lamp………….. for a REEALLLLY long time

Suffice to say, there was nothing. There was no comfort to be found.

‘Cept this. I hiked the other day. With a friend. It was sub-zero temperatures and I’m pretty sure my nose was purple by the hikes end.  We loaded up our sixty-five layers and set out on our way to hike the blue path loop.

The landscape was rather mundane, this time of year the white snow blanketed any color the earth waits to display.  We passed tree after tree and I was sort of lost in conversation; my surroundings doing little to catch my attention. But then kind of magically out of nowhere a little creek snuck up on me.  Having been so heads down watching my next icey step, I almost missed it. It was out of the corner of my eye that I was beckoned to turn and see.  I stopped, smiled and took a tiny bit deeper breath.  That little creek danced in my soul.

And tonight, as I attempted one hundred fifty thousand and seventy two times to find God’s comfort, the only thing that kept coming back to my mind was that tiny little creek. Confident that couldn’t be God’s comfort, I kept pushing it aside. But then that silly creek kept coming back into my mind. And each time it did, I felt a little bit more okay. And I started to wonder if maybe a little bit of God’s comfort is in our memory banks. Like maybe all those little magically, awe-inspiring, breath-takingly fantastic moments are for us to pocket. That comfort can actually be found in another time and another place.  

I have a friend who just found out she’s pregnant. But it’s not so exciting right now. It’s scary because she knows the pain of losing an unborn baby all too well. And so she’s numb. And scared. And anxious. And waiting.

I have people in my life who are approved and ready to welcome a baby into their home through adoption. And tomorrow a mother looks at their book. It’s a time of hope; yet deep ache.

I have friends with difficult and life-altering diagnosis and I have friends whose marriages hang by threads.

Pain. It’s all so painful. We live in a constantly broken world. Some moments offer a glimpse of wholeness and beauty, but most days we’re waiting – for healing, for redemption, for change, for answered prayers.

And so tonight, I just thought maybe we could all just choose comfort together. Maybe we could just reach deep down and find those moments, the memories and times that took our breath away, even if but for a moment.

And gawd may they be a sweet, sweet melody to our souls; a fleeting moment of comfort.