With each step I took away from the chapel, the more I regretted leaving. I had really, really wanted and hoped to speak with someone, to help me feel better.
But at the same time, the further I got away, the more it seemed like staying would have been the wrong decision and that I had made the right choice. If it was me against protocol, I didn't see that I had a chance to win.
Protocol is a very...necessary part of organization. Protocol exists to ensure that there is order. As I've mentioned before, the three gentlemen who are asked to serve in the main administrative positions of the ecclesiastical unit do so on a voluntary basis. Outside of church, they have full-time jobs and families that occupy most of their time. The time they volunteer to other members of the community congregations is taken out of their free time.
So without protocol, it is very easy to imagine people calling them or visiting them at home all the time. So I understand protocol. As I said, protocol is necessary. But sometimes protocol can be very frustrating. Very, very frustrating.
You want to think...hope...believe...that the love of God and love of neighbor would, at least on occasion, trump protocol. So I couldn't help but think that if Jesus was actually here, he would have time to help heal my heavy heart, just like he did for all those people nearly 2,000 years ago.
And I really, really wanted to believe that one of them would have similar compassion and take the time to meet with me, to counsel with me, to advise me, to love me...but I just didn't know for sure. So I wanted to stay, but I guess, in the end, I just believed that protocol would win, and I couldn't take the rejection. So I left and walked home.
And when I got home, I did the only thing left to do: I prayed.
I prayed hard. I poured out my soul to my Father in Heaven. How I felt alone. Abandoned. Hollow. Empty. Disappointed. Sad. How sorry I was that I had gotten so angry. How sorry I was that I felt like I was losing hope, losing faith. I also expressed how grateful I was that, for the most part, I felt like He had always listened to our prayers. To my prayers.
Nathan was still with us. Despite all of the days in the hospital. All of the surgeries. All of the times we had come so close to losing him, he was still with us. And that meant something. It meant something huge.
It meant that there was still reason to hope. We had not been abandoned. We were not alone. God was still with us. He still loved us. And He would continue to be with us and support us through our trials. I could have absolute faith in Him and He would not let us down.
And for the first time in a couple of weeks, I felt good inside again. No anger. Much less sadness. I felt comforted. I felt a measure of peace in my soul. I felt like God had put his arm around me and said "Trust me. You'll be OK."
And I believed I would.
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