Crisis of faith

I wrote this in early July, the day our friends lost their perfect, beautiful daughter before she was born. I'm still not ready to confront the feelings and doubts it provoked. This was my outpouring on the day:

The last day and a half has been hard.

Emotionally hard and spiritually hard.

Yesterday a friend had to give birth to a baby she knew had already died. At 39 weeks gestation, this poor woman had to go through the pain and trauma of an induced labour with no promise of joy at the end, no heartbeat, only sadness and grief.

I am devastated. I am heartbroken. I am angry. I am full of doubt and my hope is faded.

My earliest memories are of bedtime. Every night my mum promised that she loved me, and Jesus loved me even more. I have been told my whole life long that God is love. I have believed my whole life long that God is love, and that God knows all things, is in all things and is all powerful.

I have known grief before. And heartbreak. And loss. I have seen and known death in its injustice and finality. I have seen the Lord give and the Lord take away. But yesterday was the first day on which I couldn’t stop thinking if God is love, He cannot be all powerful, and if He is all powerful he cannot be love. This is too cruel, too cold, too final and hopeless.

Why? What if? Why? Where is the miracle? Where is the mercy? Where is the kindness and comfort and love? I don’t see them, I can’t see them.