I stand, anger in hand, covered in
The tattered remains of my self-worth.
The futility of banging my fist against
The stone wall of another’s hostility and unforgiveness
Leaves me breathless and beaten and worn,
Wondering when, or if, things will change.
No matter how big the anger or
How hard the beating,
Things remain the same, or nearly so,
That they have always been.
The rebounding of my fistful of wrath
Only bruises my soul and batters my spirit.
Somewhere in the dark realms,
A part of me is screaming for release
From the bonds of my own unforgiveness.
God knows I have tried to let things go,
To feel, to work through, to release anger…
But the more I let go of, the more I find,
Until I am foundering and gasping for air.
People tell me, and I have heard it
Many times before, that I must find healing,
That I must feel, and work through, and let go of
All the anger inside of me.
I have wept repentance repeatedly.
I have cried forgiveness over and over again.
I have prayed for healing and deliverance and release.
I have given all I know how to give of myself
Toward this fantastical end-goal of wholeness.
A lifetime of habitual grieving for the loss of
More than I can bear to think of, takes its toll.
I am blind and cannot see, deaf and cannot hear,
Lame and cannot walk even one more step
Down this road of hardship and struggle,
But the frustrating part is that
I have given up before.
So, how many times must I die like this
Before some freedom comes?
I cry to You, O Lord,
Yet still the wicked triumph over me.
I fight with shadows on the water.
How long, my God, must I wait for help?
Hope escapes me, despair overwhelms me, and
I am a stupid, helpless child again,
Waiting for some sign of salvation to come.
Sometimes all I can see is futility.
I cannot even see You these days.
I affect a façade of calmness and peace
In some vain effort to make it so—
Despite my feelings of panic and fear.
Tomorrow… I wonder, will it happen?
All that I dread hangs waiting in the wings,
Weighting the balance of my emotions
Toward the expectation of loss.
What more can I say?
This, I feel. This, I despise about myself:
These feelings of anger, despair, and hopelessness
Make me feel foolish in the face of truth.
Truth is that You are…
That You are good and just and merciful.
Your patience is endless and
My impatience is fruitless.
So, while all that I feel stacks up into a mountain,
Your TRUTH is the snow that covers it,
Smoothing all the jagged edges that hurt me
Into a great, white blanket of hope.
Even though I feel so much,
I stand silenced by magnificence and
I say with Job,
“I have uttered what I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know…
I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
But now my eye sees You.
Therefore I abhor myself,
And repent in dust and ashes.�
Healing will come and the anger will go,
Though I do not know how or when.
Still, I choose to trust You again and
Release my struggles with watery shadows
Into Your graceful hands.
Once more, O LORD, I say,
“You… are… my… God!�
