One afternoon several years ago, I cried out to God from my prayer closet:  “Why do you allow me to feel so much pain?”

I was standing in the intersection of old grief and new grief.  That summer I wrote many memories in the form of poems, an excruciating process of reliving past hurts.  I brought old hurts out in the open on paper, examined the pain, grieved the loss of what they revealed, and worked to put them to rest.