College opened my eyes to the wonders of literature. While I'd always enjoyed writing, it wasn't until I got my hands on older works that I began to indulge my fantasy of one becoming a published author. Deviling deeper into literature and it's criticisms, I found myself particularly drawn to Sylvia Plath for her poetic and often times manic portrayals of the emotions stirred up by death. She wrote often of her father, and the close bond they shared. When he fell ill Plath prayed to God every day for her fathers healing. After his death she wrote, "I will never talk to God again."

            January 22, 2013, I watched my mother, my best friend; pass away after 5 grueling days of in home hospice care and three years battling breast cancer. Despite my love for Christ, in that moment, I felt sickened by the notion that I too, would never talk to God again. Years, months, weeks, days, and hours filled with prayer all seemed to fall short for some strange reason. I knew hundreds upon hundreds of people who prayed for her. Did the voices dull out to a mute hum in the heavens? Heaven had enough angels; why not leave one on Earth just a little longer? Where was my God?

            Shortly after my baptism, I told myself that I would do everything I could to keep my heart focused on Jesus and all that He did for the world on the cross. I would try to seek Christ despite my mothers ailing health and my breaking heart. I clung to my hope in Christ in even the darkest of home hospice hours. Despite Mom's vegetable like condition I still found myself praying for both healing and strength so that no matter what happened, God's plan would be the glory, and I grateful at His feet. At 12:15 A.M., January 22, 2013, my mother passed away.

            In the months that followed, the depths of my despair seemed endless. Waking up and putting my feet on the ground every morning felt like a miracle in itself. Grief brought out my anger, hostility, and sadness once again, just as it had 6 years prior when my father passed away. I felt guilty for being angry with God and at the same time I felt justified, a bitter, orphaned child who's Father didn't hear her frantic cries. Midway through prayer I'd just fall short, too tired to mentally carry on any one thought. Friends and loved ones invited me to come out and I'd politely decline. Those same friends would send me text messages and cards with consoling Bible verses. I couldn't even bring myself to go to Church without feeling overwhelmed with sadness and anxiety. I was a mess.

            A week before Easter at the Civic Center, my family had a small service for my mother, scattering her ashes into the sea. Under the warmth of the same sun she enjoyed so much, a gentle glow began within me. Arriving back to what is my new home in Tallahassee, I found myself mindlessly scanning the Internet, as I often did when I needed a little numbness. In that scanning, I read this verse: "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the LORD delivers him out of them all" (Psalm 34:19, NKJV) I sat slack jawed, in awe of the comfort of the great Deliverer! The lord had brought me to this sadness surely, and would deliver me from it. "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all of my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book" (Psalms 56:8 NLT)

            Fast forward to Easter at the Civic Center a week later. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in church, but I needed it so. A year ago I came to Christ at this same service, overwhelmed by Jesus' sacrifice, love, and resurrection for a sinner like me. As the City Church band started up, the Holy Spirit seemed to fill the room, and I once again found myself overwhelmed with Christ's love, as I was the year before. All of the sadness, the anger, the hurt, it paled so to Christ's great love. The wonderful mother He blessed me with was to be celebrated twice as much as she was to be mourned. And what could I say for the loving family, fiancé, and church community around me? I was not now nor will I ever deserve any of it. To Christ be the glory!

            Grief is a strangely complicated emotion. So strange in fact, that it is fueled by the sadness resulting from ones missing love. While my love was never missing, it was indeed misplaced. What is never misplaced is Christ's love for us. Though it is difficult, I am working towards peace every day. While I understand where Plath was coming from, I simply can't extinguish my dialogue with God, for His love was never extinguished for me. While I'd love nothing more than for my mother to have lived alongside me forever, I take great comfort in where Christ's love has brought her. Reconciled, pure, free of pain, cancer, and worldly grievance! She is safe again in returning to the Lord, and it is because of Him I have been delivered to this place. This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it. My Deliverer is coming!

(That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day.  For our present troubles are quite small and won't last very long. Yet they produce for us an immeasurably great glory that will last forever!  So we don't look at the troubles we can see right now; rather, we look forward to what we have not yet seen. For the troubles we see will soon be over, but the joys to come will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

(Emily Hils is a recent FSU graduate with her Bachelors in Political Science (so please hire her.) She spends the vast majority of her spare time reading, writing, obsessing over her dogs and wishing she was Miranda Lambert. Emily has been going to City Church for over a year and is engaged to one of their VIP Ushers, David Roberts. The two will be married September 2013.)