Being Angry

I write about confusing, hard, or controversial things. If it were simple, easy, or obvious it wouldn’t grip my soul or I’d turn it into art. I fear my heart is too dark for the average day. The questions I ask and the topics I touch on don’t fit the normal blog paradigm. Usually we are seeking lighter interludes and happier endings.

My heavy soul seems to fit the times we face right now. I’m not handling these days better or worse than the next suddenly homeschooling mom, I’m sure. I’m not more or less impatient with the lack of personal space and time than the average mother and wife, I bet.

I sense, instead, that we have an awareness as a society of the nuggets I roll over in my soul often. I seek laughter. I seek reprieve. I seek frivolity. I need it. I wish I were good at those things. I crave them, but I’m terrible at creating them. The deep places my soul treads are probably the same as yours. Maybe I sense we’re collectively ready to put it out there together? Proceed at your own risk.

I wrestle with ANGER.

I wrestle with anger about regular things.

I get angry about stubbing my toe. I get angry at the dog tracking a muddy mess into my house. I get angry when the kids WON’T STOP PICKING AT EACH OTHER.

I get angry when someone steps on my toes, figuratively. I get angry when someone snipes back at me with judgment about things they can’t fathom.

I get angry when innocent pre-born children are murdered en masse. I get angry when children are hurt by their parents and continue to be traumatized to no end.

I get angry when leaders lie and people get hurt. I get angry when germs hurt people. I get angry when my sister can’t work and her husband got laid off.

I get angry when we can’t manage our circumstances.

I wrestle with anger about my personal things.  

I get angry that we’re far from “on track” for retirement and we have nothing material to show for it, except a whole lot of lessons about what’s NOT wrong with me.

I get angry that we’re living in America instead of a far-flung town in East Asia where I always dreamed of living. I get angry that my SUV has 4 empty seats instead of 2 – I want my adopted kiddos.

I get angry that my expensive degrees are shriveled up among the cobwebs in the corners of my brain. I get angry that my kids don’t have a working mom showing them that women can love Jesus, love their families, love their home, and love their careers simultaneously.

I get angry that our family fingerprint is not smeared around the lives of people we interact with at church and our neighborhood – we live much too small a life. I get angry that I’ve burned up months of life in bed staring at a wall or eyes clamped shut in agony.

I get angry that I’m an 8 on the Enneagram and I live this feeble existence.

I don’t want to do it.

I don’t want to do COVID-19. I don’t want to help my sister and her family make it through (I’m happy to do it, BTW). I don’t want to do the path He picked for me.

I don’t want to do the hard. I don’t want to do the complicated. I don’t want to do the exhausting, “un-ending”, confusing, “senseless”, inconvenient, life-altering and life-limiting mess I’ve been given.

Yes, I’m pouting.

Yes, I’m stomping my foot and my face is red. Yes, my arms are crossed and I have a grumpy face. Yes, unkind and ungodly words come out of my mouth in anguish to the living God.

Maybe you do your hard better than me?

Maybe you always rise to the occasion with grace and charm. Maybe you see what needs to be done and don’t pout that there is no other way except straight through no matter how long or hard the terrain becomes. Maybe you see the silver lining and it is your inspiration and motivation to keep going.

I hope so.

If you don’t, then I’m your girl.

Sure, I have risen, but not with grace OR charm. Sure, I push on no matter where this road takes me, but I drag my feet. Sure, I see the beauty in the ashes and draw strength from it, but often I gripe before I get there. I’m pretty feeble at doing the good stuff, and not as consistent as I wish.

I wrestle with anger and it holds me hostage. I’ve tried to “ninja-move” it away. I’ve tried to creep away when it’s not looking. I’ve tried to run away with all my might. It’s always caught me.

I wrestle with anger.

Am I really angry at the stubbed toe, the judgmental comment, or COVID-19? OR am I really angry with God?

I am angry at God.

I don’t wrestle with the anger at God; I wrestle WITH God.

I’m angry that He chose this path for our world right now.

I’m angry that He chose this path for my sister right now.

I’m angry that He chose this path for my life.

There are lots of things we try to demand from God. I’m still not sure where the line falls for what’s ok and what’s not.

I demand He help me learn the lessons that are mine to learn. I demand that He stick with me through the fire. I demand that He empower me to not waste my pain and fear. I demand because I’m afraid He won’t. Of course He will, but it’s my coping way of handling my pain and fear because it’s so darn hard to trust Him.

There are so many things I “need” to know that He hasn’t told me - i.e. what is wrong with me. There are so many basic things I feel entitled to have that He has withheld - i.e. feeling human. I have begged and I haven’t heard Him answer - except for the same bundle of words we all depend on, the Bible. Where is His voice on the things that are mine? My faith falters. My trust flails. I fight to hold onto what is true, but it’s hard.

I wrestle the living God.

I’m Jacob. I won’t let Him let me go ‘til I get to the end of this thing. Maybe that’s the blessing? I won’t let Him let me go until I “get” everything He’s prepared for me in these hard times. Maybe that’s the blessing? I won’t let Him let me go because He can handle all of my ugly and I still NEED Him in my ugly. Maybe He’s the blessing?

There have been tears (many). There has been blood, figuratively (lots). There has been screaming (loud and long).

I believe He empowers us to do what He’s put in our path. I believe we should raise a song to Him. I believe we should stand tall in the hope He offers. I believe we should fight the fear that creeps in deeply. I believe we should love, have faith, bear all things, and do it beautifully…

BUT.

But, that’s a lot of pressure. Sometimes we can’t hold it all. Sometimes the balls fall to the ground. Sometimes things crash around us.

Is He so frail He NEEDS us to do the RIGHT things? Of course not.

Is He so small that my humanity must be squelched to walk with Him well? No.

He’s big enough to see my ugly. He’s big enough to handle my pain. He’s big enough to hold my fear. He’s big enough to cradle my questions. He’s big enough to wrestle my anger.

He’s not mandating better behavior from me. He’s not rocked by my tantrums. He’s not at emotional capacity and in need of me to shape up (like I do to my kids).

He holds me. He wrestles me. He messes my hair up and He smooths it out. He tracks with my reality and doesn’t step away.

Our God can handle our real.

Hold onto Him. Fight Him. Wrestle Him. Yell at Him.

Whatever you do, don’t get away from Him.

Our God can handle our real.

I’m angry at God. He can handle it.

Are you angry at Him? He can handle it.

Our God can handle our real.

blessings,

Do you take The right or the real to Him?

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