When God scratched my back

People have often asked if I could “feel” God the day Molly died, and while I have always known that I could, I couldn’t quite pin point how I felt Him. I knew He was there in the same way I often sense him now, through the quickening of the Holy Spirit. For example, scripture came to life; Bible verses, heard many times before, which had become stale or ordinary, were suddenly fresh and brilliant. And, prayer became an immediate necessity, even just gathering her little red tennis shoes from the play room floor felt like more weight than I could bear on my own. But, how I “felt” God on that day was not something I could put my finger on, until yesterday. And, identifying it—giving it a name—just makes it easier to share what was, and still is, one of the greatest treasures in my heart.

Yesterday, a woman in our church was sharing about how she came to have a better understanding of “being God’s hands” while on a trip to Kenya, Africa. The woman talked about a little African boy that she was blessed to encounter on a trip last summer. She said that the little boy had AIDS and was so sick that with every breath his whole body would rattle. She sat and held him, and in doing so, she realized at that moment, she was being God’s hands. She said that she realized that God wanted to stroke the little boy’s head, and at that moment, He was using her hands to do it. I don’t know of anytime that I have ever been God’s hands to such a noble extent. But, I have felt His hand on my body and in my pain there was no touch that mattered more.

On the day that Molly died, friends and family gathered in our home. They came because they wanted, needed, to hug us and pray with us. People drove from Lancaster and Riverside; people called to say there were flying in from Illinois and others said they were driving down from Northern California. There were so many people that I would overwhelm you if I tried to share how important each person was on that day—and the days that followed. Imagine you live in a small house and it is filled with people who love you, love each other and love God. Imagine that every one of them is in their own state of shock, just as you are; none of you had seen this coming. Imagine that you are the one they want to comfort, but that they know their words will fail. Imagine that you are in your bedroom, lying on your bed and you can hear all the commotion of the conversation, but when you rise to go out into the front of the house—everyone stops talking. Imagine the battle inside of yourself between wanting to see these friends that you haven’t seen in months, and wanting to withdraw into a cave and never have human contact again.

It was an exhausting day, and in the evening, when we gathered in a circle to pray, I remember that I did not pray, I only cried. And, the entire time my friend, Debbie Jump, held me up. Without her hands, I’m sure I would have fallen down into the deepest, darkest abyss. And maybe that is why, at that moment God wanted to hold me. I don’t remember a word of the prayers that were uttered; I only remember Debbie’s arms.

As soon as we were finished praying, I was done. I couldn’t hold it together if I had wanted to, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be sad and to weep in a way that would have made others uncomfortable. I went back into my room and slipped into bed. But, another brave soul followed me there. My quiet and ever-humble friend, Regina Bloemendaal, lay on my bed and scratched my back. She didn’t tell me to stop crying, she didn’t offer any wise words. Which was probably better, for when it comes to grieving, I have come to learn that words said with warmth can still wound like weaponry. I don’t know how long Reg rubbed my back, because at some point I finally found sleep. But today, thinking about her hand, softly moving across my back as I drifted to a painless sleep makes me adore her. Imagining her hand as the hand of God makes me feel loved by my creator. Her touch becomes a double blessing, one of friendship and one of Fatherly love. He wanted to lie on my bed with me and rub my back, so he gave me Reg.