I know a little of what it feels like to lose someone very close to you. I have felt the sick empty ache. I have felt the pain, and the pain was like a womb. Dark and cramped, but, somehow safe. I had to stay in the womb because the outside world was just too free and bright, and I wasn't ready to face it. I knew that some day, I would have to be born into that world, to live my life, and the life would probably be good. But, for awhile, I needed the darkness, the buffering mother-tissue of grief and numbness. Where was comfort, when the person to whom I was used to turning was gone from my life? Was God a comfort? Not when my pain was caused by yearning for something which it did not please Him to give. Where was hope, when the object of my desire was at odds with God's plan for my life? It is so easy to become soured and bitter, even toward God. I could not allow that. The only real hope comes in letting go of my dream. The only comfort comes when I am drained of myself. "Why?" is the question most of us cry out. The answer is that I was not made for myself. I know that I am only clay, that, though God may crush me on His wheel, He will again build me up. If I rebelled against the Potter's hands, how would I ever become whole? But the stretching, the spinning, and the molding hurt me. So I waited. And I hurt.