where the writers are
Getting Real

Sometimes even counting my blessings doesn't alleviate the mourning, knowing in the midst of the weeping that there are so many others whose sufferings far outweigh my own.  I heard once that depression is the epitomy of selfishness, it is completely looking inward upon one's own troubles, worries, sorrow and pain.  But what if this weight of blackness is not simply about me?  What if part of the pain comes from aching for others' loss, others' struggles?

Have you ever heard something that you just really couldn't assimilate at the time, but its message slowly began to take root in your mind, your understanding, almost without your conscious thought?  Perhaps that is happening here.  Our sermon this morning was from Habakkuk.  I heard the sermon, but it didn't really seem to touch me, as so often is the case.

Habakkuk was angry with God.  He shouted his anger, he questioned God's judgment, he flung out complaints toward God, accusing him of being unjust as he allowed wicked to prosper and the innocent to perish.  That part I understood. 

I have always believed that God is big enough to handle our anger.   And in my understanding, I know God wants a real relationship with us, so that means sharing all our thoughts with him, not just the good ones.  Knowing that and putting it into practice are not necessarily mutually inclusive, however.  I think in my piety, perhaps I have admitted my sorrow, but not my anger.  I have been a good Christian and said that God is good, and God is in control, and God's grace is sufficient.  And while I still believe all these things are true, at this precise moment, this second in time, in my weakness,  I don't FEEL that.  I FEEL empty and betrayed and sad and lost.

So here I am, Lord, standing on my little mountain, telling you that I feel like you've let me down.  I have tried to lay this burden at your feet, Lord, but I guess I'm not strong enough to let it go.  Maybe it is that I don't trust you now to take care of what's left of it.   I am truly sorry for that.  I wish my faith were stronger.  I wish I could truly be the calm, collected, spiritually right person that will be a witness to others...a beacon of your light to the world. 

Maybe tomorrow.

And then I feel guilty for letting you down.

But you want real, Lord. This is me on the raggedy edge.  I can't deal with this alone.  I can't deal with this at all.  Hear my cry, and pull me back from the cliff.  Please give me an answer as you did to Habakkuk.  Turn this sorrow to rejoicing, this anger to praise.  Help me get back to the place where I can be honest when I say I am abiding in your grace.  Amen.