I didn’t see this one coming but here it is.

I’ve started a new count of days; this time we are on Day 23. Twenty-three days ago, my middle son was in a bonfire accident. Almost fifty percent of his body was covered in burns, some of them very deep.

As this site has always been about my story and no one else’s, I’m not going to go into the details of the accident, his injuries, or his recovery here. That is his story to tell, not mine.

These past three plus weeks have been excruciating. My poor body doesn’t know what to do. Some nights I sleep in this hospital chair that more closely resembles a medieval torture device than a bed. Other nights I sleep in a hotel bed. Others, I don’t sleep at all, just sit and watch my boy sleep (or not). After a few nights at the bedside, I may sleep for several hours during the day. Or, like today, I might try to sleep only to find that my mind won’t shut off enough to let me do so.

In those sleepless hours of the first days in this hospital, I found myself asking God, “Why us? Why us, again?” I know that I wasn’t the only one, either, because more than one of the people closest to me expressed the same. I don’t have an answer for that beyond this: Why not us?

I mean, we’re humans just like everyone else. Other families have losses and pain, too. Why should we be exempt, just because we aren’t novices to grief?

Tonight, I was able to spend a little time talking with one of the young nurses on the floor. She’s been with us many nights over the time we’ve been here. She’s sweet and kind and good at her job. Tonight, she told me she believes that all things happen for a reason and that good will come out of this. I told her that I don’t know about that, but I do know that God is able to take all things and use them for good and for his glory.

And that’s where I am tonight. I’ve felt all the feelings.

Anger.

Frustration.

Woe is me.

Guilt.

Disbelief.

But tonight, I’m listening to my Grace in the Grief playlist and choosing to remember that God is good. That in my son’s recovery, and he is recovering miraculously well, we can choose to curse or bless the one who knit this boy together in my womb.

Besides, what good would cursing God even do?

Did Job curse God when even his wife said he should?

Did Daniel when he was thrown in with hungry lions?

Did Mary when she was suddenly an unwed mother in a culture that could have stoned her for it?

Did Paul when he was shipwrecked, snake bitten, or jailed unfairly?

No. In the darkest, hardest parts of their lives, these saints who went before us chose to bless and not curse. If they could do it, so can I.