I’ve been on hiatus from blogging for the winter But now that I’m back I want to hit you with a big one. As I like to put it, “Go big or go home!”

Over the past month, I’ve had something on my mind and I’m going to try and put it in words. I want to write about God as a Father. I haven’t written much about religion on my blog – not because it’s not important to me but it’s sometimes fairly difficult to verbalize – especially to the impersonal, faceless land of bloggerdom. But I’m going to try and if anyone reads this, I hope they have a chance to pause and consider their own understanding of God (existence, attributes, character, role, etc.) as I have had the chance to do the last few weeks.

This all started one morning when I was listening to NPR on the radio (as I often do) on my way to work. Only this time, I was struggling to see the road as my eyes welled up with water. I was listening to a detailed report about the death toll in Haiti and the destitute survivors left to fight for food and shelter. I heard about tens of thousands of bodies piled in the streets and chaos everywhere. I asked myself – where is God in all this?

That night, WE and I went on a date to the DSO. As if my morning wasn’t enough, we then experienced Franz Schmidt’s Symphony No. 4, otherwise known as “A Requiem for my Daughter.” Schmidt, a widower, wrote this haunting piece shortly after the death of his only daughter – who died unexpectedly giving birth to a grandchild. Almost as a metaphor for life, the piece starts how it ends with the mourning cry of the trumpet. In between, there’s 40 minutes of beautiful orchestra – nonetheless heavy, including a more upbeat funeral march in the middle.

I don’t necessarily blame anyone who may at some time wonder if there is a God. And if so, why so much pain and suffering? What could be so great about life for the innocent child who just lost his mother and father? Surely, if God exists, what I’m experiencing now must be punishment because an all-powerful Being could have stopped this from happening, right? And if God loved me, wouldn’t He have made some way to stop this?

Last Saturday, I attended a baptism of a 16-year-old girl I know. She had decided that she wanted to enter the waters of baptism and thus, be associated with the name of Christ promising to her unseen God a life different that the one she had lead up until then. I asked myself – what made her want such a drastic change and commitment? Could this be one of the most proud and happy moments a Father in Heaven could have for his trusting child? After the ceremony as the guests waited for her to finish changing into dry clothes, we listened to an audio clip about Jesus Christ. It covered the ministry, final week, and resurrection. I found online a portion of the clip that seemed to be etched in my mind as I listened:

In that most burdensome moment of all human history, with blood appearing at every pore and an anguished cry upon His lips, Christ sought Him whom He had always sought–His Father. “Abba,” He cried, “Papa,” or from the lips of a younger child, “Daddy.”

This is such a personal moment it almost seems a sacrilege to cite it. A Son in unrelieved pain, a Father His only true source of strength, both of them staying the course, making it through the night–together.

I  remember my mission president kneeling in prayer with me and offering up to God his desires in Bulgarian. President Johnson rarely used the formal word for Father – rather he preferred to say  ’татко’ – meaning ‘Papa’ especially mid-sentence when he seemed to be pleading more than just asking.

I came to the conclusion that some children trust their parents and some parents trust their children. This trust allows for the relationship to withstand it’s fair share – and it’s trust, or faith, or hope, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it that allows us to make it through the night together.