Because yesterday’s post was about a real life person in my very small town, I’ve decided to delete it. Thank you to everyone who was so supportive. Also, I refuse to dishonor my husband by detailing negative aspects of our separation on this blog. That, however, does not make it safe to assume the best or the worst about his presence or provision. Any assumptions made are being made purely out of imagination, and I will no longer be manipulated into giving unnecessary details because some people choose to assume the worst.
Love, by the way, always assumes the very best. And if I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. And I do not want to be a cymbal!
I woke in the middle of the night, and I asked God to deliver me from anger. I don’t think it’s the last step, but I know it was an extremely important one. I’ve dealt with so much anger, lately. Anger at my husband, my children, even my God. I have a switch, and Satan has accessed it. I can be flipped from holy to horrendous in about three seconds, and I do not want to live like this!
On Sunday morning, life was good. By Sunday afternoon, I wanted to die. As I paced back in forth in the bathroom, recounting every wrong done to me and all of my reasons for rage, God grabbed me by the hand and whispered, “Never forget this feeling.”
There is a self-righteous high that comes over me when I succumb to that my-anger-is-completely-justified dip in the cesspool of rage. I plan my brutal (but necessary) tongue lashing knowing I can slice through thick skin when I aim to.
My heart races, boiling my blood.
My neck and shoulders stiffen and my head begins to pound. But this time, God spoke loudly enough to be heard over the heady sound of blood rushing by my ears. “This feeling? It’s not from Me.” And I responded with an, “Uhh, oh . . . . well, duh!”
The world loves to rile us over what we “deserve” and what we are legally “entitled” to have. Make no mistake, though, the heroes of faith knew that God was enough. We are in the world, but it’s our God who made it . . . . has access to every dollar, every resource, every good thing.
Several months ago, in a counseling session with a very wise older woman, I chattered on and on about what I needed from my husband, what I needed people to know about me, etc. Quite frankly, I was a mess . . . . until she spoke seven life-changing words. “Do you trust God to defend you?” And I realized two things right then and there: One, no, I absolutely did not trust God like I thought I did. And two, that I truly, from the depths of my soul, wanted to get there.
God, my strength, I am looking to you, because God is my defender.
This is my story. This is my song. Praising my Savior…all the day long.