mama3girls-phnig

There’s a weird thing I’ve noticed about human beings. Also known as me too.

Eventually, God gets blamed.

Honestly?

Fair.

He’s the biggest entity in the room.
He has the keys.
He can allow.
He can stop.
He can intervene.
He can part seas, raise dead people, and theoretically whisper one well-timed “absolutely not” into human chaos.
So when someone is homeless, addicted, burying a child, betrayed by a spouse, abused by someone who should have protected them, or staring at the smoking rubble of a life they did not choose…
I don’t panic when they get angry at God.

It feels…normal.

I have spent an inordinate amount of time recently asking myself why “grief” has to be labeled “bad”.

I truly don’t understand even when I do understand the penchant to go there.

But I don’t want to digress with a question like, “What if we were to let feelings be feelings and not punish them.” I am not trying to bring to mind any known presidential campaign slogan. NOT THAT.

I don’t rush to defend Him.
I don’t say weird Christian things like, “God has a plan,” when someone is actively bleeding.
I regulate.
Because I understand the cognitive distortion of a broken heart.

And yes, I said distortion—even though it contains truth.
A broken heart does math like this:
God could have stopped this.
God didn’t stop this.
Therefore God did this to me.
That equation makes emotional sense.
It even makes a certain kind of theological sense.
Because if God is sovereign enough to stop evil, then His non-intervention feels personal.

I think of Martha saying to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” John 11:21.

I think of Psalm 13:1–2. Job 30:20. Job 19:7.
Brutal.

Totally there in the Bible. Non-coded.

I know.
I know.
He could have stopped this.
That is usually the sentence underneath all the rage.
Not: I hate God.
Usually it’s something far more childlike and devastating.
It’s this:
Why didn’t You stop them?
Why didn’t You stop her?
Why didn’t You stop him?
Why didn’t You stop the car?
The diagnosis?
The addiction?
The betrayal?
The assault?
The abandonment?
Why did You let me live through this?
And if I’m honest, I think God eventually becomes the safest target.
Because blaming people gets complicated.
People are limited.
People are broken.
People die.
People deny.
People gaslight.
People say, “That’s not what happened.”
But God?
God doesn’t disappear when we rage.
He doesn’t get defensive.
He doesn’t say, “You need some help, baby. You’re not thinking straight.”

Thank Christ.

God can absorb accusation without collapsing.
So sometimes the rage aimed at God is not rebellion.

Sometimes it is grief refusing to lie.

Sometimes it is the last honest prayer a person still knows how to pray.

And maybe this is the most offensive thing I believe:
I think God would rather be screamed at than politely abandoned.
I think He can handle being the One we blame.
Because He knows something we forget in our heartbreak. He knows the difference between accusation and longing.

He knows when “I hate You” really means—
I wanted You to save me.

And that is the part that breaks me.
Because beneath so much anger at God lives a devastated confession:
I believed You could have stopped this.
I still believe You could have stopped this.
And I do not understand why You didn’t.
Neither do I.
Some days I have theology.
Other days I have tears.
Most days I have both.
But I no longer fear the question.
I know.
I know.
He could have stopped this.
Sometimes that is not heresy.
Sometimes that is simply where faith tells the truth before it heals.