Before my daughter died inside me, I wasn't sure if there was room in my religion for the dark things of this life. Does God care about depression? Apathy? Emptiness? Doubt? Or does everyone who suffers from these things find themselves on the outside of faith simply because of that suffering?
I wasn't sure. What does God make of my depression? Is there room in my faith for grief? Or should the hope in God that kindles in our hearts drive out all the pain of the grave?
Now, I have my answer. I have been reading the books of Ecclesiastes and Job, and by these books' presence in the Bible, I know -- there is room. There is room for it all: grief, doubt, depression, fear, apathy, and more.
So, like the writer of Ecclesiastes, I can tell God -- right now, I hate life. I can echo Job's words -- it seems that the happiest day of my life will be the day I die. I can be honest. There is room in my faith for honesty, painful truth though it may be.
That room, that honesty before God -- it brings freedom. Not only am I allowed to say these things, but God wants me to say them.
Because it is only by experiencing the feelings, by entering the pain, and by being honest with Him about my struggle that I will ever enjoy His healing.
There is freedom in this pain, in the feeling of it. Of this I am sure.