Dear Mr. Hitchens

Dear Mr. Hitchens,

I hope this note finds you well—and in a timely manner. I am skeptical of the @aol.com email address; not many people I know still use AOL. But I hope that your eyes do see this someday soon. I am in a sense a fan of yours: more a fan of you as a person than of you as an author, because I have truthfully never read any of your books. I have, however, read your articles; I prefer vignettes, columns, editorials, and commentaries for the same reason I prefer portraits of people. The artist must find the essence of the individual and capture her in one image or short composite of images. Beauty is not the goal, necessarily, but breadth and depth of expression.

I have followed your health crisis of the last few years, and have contemplated sickness, disease, restricted livelihood, and the eternal nature of humanity and the whole created order. We likely disagree on much, but surely also share much in common. There really is not much variation between two feet, two hands, two eyes, and two ears the world over. On the spectrum of life’s experiences, chances are we could really resonate with one another’s joys and grief.

I have recently been on a transforming journey of grief that touched the depth of my heart, but even in the depths of this grief, I am not without hope. One of the most poignant philosophical thoughts (I believe it is attributed to C.S. Lewis) is that the mere inkling of hope is in fact a supernatural allusion to Christ’s Resurrection. There is no reason to expect hope or a happy ending when all that stares us in the face is decay and destruction. Where is this universally experienced foreshadowing coming from? It can only come from the preeminence of God and his eternal nature as Alpha and Omega.

Despite the despair and grief that sometimes consumes mind and heart, my soul and spirit cry out to God, trusting that He is sovereign and that He cares. The great safety net of Christian faith is not that bad things will not happen, but that when they inevitably do, God will “work all things (ALL THINGS) together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His promises” (Romans 8:28).

Here are two sonnets I  wrote in my grief and struggling with hope, heartbreak, trusting God, and moving on. I share them with you because you may appreciate why I write, and possibly empathize on the human level of the plea for hope and wholeness.

Thanksgiving For When It's Hard

I find it difficult to praise and thank

You Lord when a grin is not a reflex

response; when Your Will brings regret and vex

Yet you want me true, in word and deed, frank.

So I tell you this Thanksgiving that I 

Am grateful that you weep when I am hurt;

Consoling me through pain you don’t avert

You can—but don’t—“let this cup pass me by.”

Therefore I trust your greater high purpose

You work all things—ALL THINGS—for Good for those

Like me, who in faith, want just what You chose

I say and mean it; help my heart feel this. 

Thank you, my God, that my pain’s not the end,

I fell in love when you made me your friend!

Moving On

Tonight I buried myself alive, Love

I dug a hole in faith that this is best

Put all the relics I must grow free of

Whilst still breathing, I stifled in death’s rest

Suffocating, my heart down there drowning

My soul is with the items laid in sand

Each grain like a hope in past love I’d cling

Now shoveling with furied passion at hand

I’m not Godly like Abraham, his son

he did not withhold, but gave faithfully;

Can’t will myself let go this dearest one

Unless I’m lost too… my sinful folly.

Lord, my offering is paltry, please take

my mustard seed trust, with it a tree make.

Peace be with you, Mr. Hitchens! And I will continue to pray for you to be at rest and know the Love and kindness of my God.