God told me my Dad was going to die.
While my Abba was sick with colon cancer, I lived at home and helped take care of him. Covid was still running amok, and as his immune system was weak, for the most part, I avoided meeting up with people. I was lonely; a 'climb the wall,' stir-crazy, losing my mind, lonely that left my body aching under a double-folded weighted blanket.
Taking care of my Abba was a privilege; simultaneously, a fear arose in my heart that if my Abba were sick for many more years, I would end up spending my thirties as a homebound spinster with a rotting womb and 'by then, it would be too late.' This wasn't just a little delay, a hiccup in the road, but a death sentence during such critical mating and childbearing years.
So I took my fear to God: "Are you telling me I'm not going to get married?" I concluded as my heart sunk in self-inflicted grief, preparing for my timeline to be pushed back indefinitely.
But God, in His wisdom, had other things in mind:
I dreamt it was my wedding day and I was dressed in a white wedding gown. Some people and I were standing outside the doors of a church in the lobby, waiting for someone to walk me down the aisle, but there was no one. I looked down and saw I was wearing my Abba's big and bulky brown shoes. They were way too big, and I said: "I can't wear these". I took them off and went to find my own shoes and the dream ended.
God spoke, which was the last thing I expected since He is usually tight-lipped when giving me even a hint about marriage or its timing. I stared in the mirror at my panicked eyes, my ashen face raw with unyielding pain. There, I dared to voice out my absolute worst fear:
"Are you telling me my Abba is going to die?"
Silence. I was terrified.
Dissecting every part of the dream, I analyzed it from every angle until I consulted a trusted friend to help me interpret it. With all of my heart, I wanted it to mean that I just needed to find my own identity before I walked down the aisle, but I couldn't shrug off the fact that in the dream, my Abba wasn't there to hand me off. My friend was kind and wise with her choice of words; although I don't remember what she said, it was enough to lift me out of my spiral.
I concluded that if I ever wanted to get married, taking care of my Abba couldn't 'fall only on me' but be divided amongst the siblings so that I could have a social life. After all, I had the most to lose by being away from society, and we were all full of faith he would recover and heal.
He passed a few months later, and the dream came true - my Abba would never walk me down the aisle.
Was that necessary?
If God told you that one day, your obedience would lead to the suffering of your ancestors for 400 years, would you still be obedient?
Not me. I would throw away the key to a locked chastity belt or double up on some ancient form of contraception because no children of mine are going to be 'strangers in a country not their own, and they will be enslaved and mistreated four hundred years." (Genesis 15:13).
But Abraham, thank God, is nothing like me. He was told in advance that 'something is gonna hurt like hell, without a shadow of a doubt and for a long time,' and embraced it. But that's not that impressive, right? By the time that happens, he'll be long gone. But unlike Abraham, God didn't promise Ezekiel a happy ending when he said (24:15,18):
"Son of man, with one blow I am about to take away from you the delight of your eyes. Yet do not lament or weep or shed any tears...So I spoke to the people in the morning, and in the evening my wife died. The next morning I did as I had been commanded."
You read that right: God told him his wife would die.
The rest of the chapter explains that he was to be a sign to the people so that they would know God is sovereign. I'm sorry (not sorry), but if that were me, I would tell God to be sovereign somewhere else and not at my expense. After all, I had already suffered so much in life and refused to believe that my pain was purely so that I could have some kind of victorious testimony.
I remember taking this picture; he looked at me with the purest eyes, full of his trademark kindness and joy.
The best Abba who ever lived.
Trust is earned, not given
I was left confused by this out-of-character reverse pep talk because I was taught that if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.
Besides, this wasn't in sync with my theology because I heard that God doesn't do things like that to 'teach someone a lesson,' but apparently, He does, even if it's not in a fist-shaking 'I'll show you!' type of way. The only man in my life left, and I spent the next year and some with the added burden of feeling extremely exposed, without protection in a harsh world. This unexpected vulnerability triggered my primordial instincts and left me scrambling to find a husband.
Although two years have passed and I've not had a single pursuer or gone on a single date, unknowingly and with every challenge I faced amidst unbearable grief, I was fulfilling the dream.
Choosing to learn what 'walking in my own shoes' meant without the man who was my closest confidant developed an unspoken understanding between God and me, one of trust—a quiet trust between friends whose relationship proved it could weather the greatest tests and the most foreboding revelations.
Waiting for your Abba to die. The worst torture.
I lived for a bit in my sister’s apartment in Jerusalem to see if we wanted to swap - she would move back home, and I would move there. My friend, Sivan, took me out to hang. We found this little oasis behind the Waldorf Astoria, but my heart found no relief.
Oriel, my friend
In His infinite wisdom, God does so that our steadfastness and belief in His goodness amid earthly pain becomes our greatest heavenly honor (personal opinion). Perhaps this is fantasy, but I'd like to think that when He introduces me, He says with pride, 'This one - this one is special. She's that one that trusted me', and all the redeemed and angels 'ooh and aah" that God deemed me worthy of such a title.
I know what you're thinking - eternity is a long way away, and that doesn't help my pain right now; I get it.
But the proof is in the pudding that God never does anything without reason; oddly enough, one of the only things that ended up comforting me was that dreadful dream. While experiencing debilitating grief, it became undeniable proof that God, who is sovereign, was with me.
I don't know all the reasons why God took my Abba or why he chose to tell me; I'm sure they are endless. But what I can say is that although I wouldn't trade my Abba's life for the world, somewhat reluctantly but not ungratefully, I am turning into the type of woman I've always wanted to be—closer to God, more noble of character, with a more mature faith.
Although I'm still looking for a husband, my restless search has subsided, and I no longer feel exposed.
I wear my own shoes now.
Love you because,
Oriel
