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The words I miss most from my mother's lips: All will be well.

I would give anything to hear her lovingly say that to me again, as she so often would, when I was troubled or lacked faith. The words themselves, coupled with her soothing voice, could calm and restore hope like nothing else. Who, I wonder, said the words to her, when she faced her own fears, demons, disappointments and heartache? She was better at listening to the Spirit than I am, no doubt.

Max Lucado (Fearless) says basically the same thing:

Everything will work out in the end. If it is not working out, it’s not the end.


This is helpful. Sort of. But I am tired and impatient and sad. It's time for the gulls.

It’s time, Father,

For the gulls, I think.




My arms shake

From flailing my field.

I sink,

Broken as the little stalks

Beneath their devouring burden.



I yield it all to you,

Who alone can touch all things.

It’s time, Father,

For the gulls.



I will be still,

And listen for their wings.
(Carol Lynn Pearson, “Time for the Gulls,” New Era, Oct. 1976, 50

)

The weariness and helplessness I feel is not unique to me, I know that. I just want things to work out in the end and I want the end right now.

The fictional *Reverend Maclean expresses my familial frustration best:

Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.

(*From the book/film A River Runs Through It)