Mom called while I mopped. Jamin had another siezure while at meijer gas station. I've never seen one so I can only picture the flailing arms, shaking body, mind unconscious. I don't particularly like to think about it, or the faces of those huddled around him fumbling for 911. His body a specticle. 

I'm so angry. I went outside barefoot across the grass, greasy hair, sweatpants with hole in the knee, and the lawn mower halted when i rounded the corner and max held me while I cried. Asked me if he could do anything besides what he was doing with his two rust colored sweaty arms. Nothing else. I told him. 

Bravely I breathed and went back inside and picked up the mop and yelled. 

"Will he ever be ok? Will he ever be happy?" I yelled up to God because I knew he could handle it. My grief. My mourning. My doubt. My faith. I jammed the mop onto the bucket in frustration at depression, the demon that yanked joy out of his eyes, manipulating his thoughts and food habits. Even though those have been better, the voice is still often strained, the eyes dull. The body stained forever from anorexias impact. 

Then it passed, my anger. Because I do still believe that God is in control even when it seems he isn't. Even when depression seems to plague me as well. I will continue to believe that he is still good even if I am angry with him because this life? It is short. And He is forever. 

And He is good. 

But will you pray for me , for him today?