About that anger...
"God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46:1, ESV)
Somewhere along this timeline that I am recollecting about our son's plummet into mental illness, I began a small business. My husband and I sold vintage items on ebay for a few years for extra money but decided to move our resale niche into a an actual antique store. And somewhere else along the way I began making "tart pan" magnets. The more rust, the better. The more coarse and harsh, industrial like, the better.
Rust. Coarseness. Cold and Industrial. That's how I would define the trial at the time. Somehow, subtly, my magnets became a creative outlet for the hidden screams in my heart and head. And somehow, subtly, a brew of anger was bubbling up in my heart and was about to boil over. A brew that wasn't hidden from God.
I can remember reading the above promise from Psalm 46:1 at times to encourage myself. Only it wasn't encouraging. I remember a time when I felt God's nearness in my walk with Him, yet somehow right in the middle of this seeming nightmarish trial...His presence felt far away. As if God were silent. I began to question God, "Why don't I feel your presence"? I would pray for it...but it seemed elusive. It seemed as if God were intentionally withholding this from me. Purposefully. Strikingly.
It wasn't because I was not seeking God, I prayed, read my Bible voraciously...not because I am so Godly, but because I was so desperate. And weak. I thought, "Lord, if I could just sense your presence, I could endure this trial." But it was not to be so.
And somewhere during this time I began to realize with God's help, that if I couldn't feel God's nearness...then I would simply have to take Him at his Word. Suddenly Psalm 46:1 became a precious promise of faith. I noticed that it doesn't promise me that I would feel God's presence...but that God promises to be very present in my trouble. To be my refuge and strength. I realized that God was growing my faith. And He'd only begun...
Because, see the anger...well it was still there. My husband and I were able to get away for a weekend and visit my parents up north. It was a Saturday night and I couldn't sleep. So I went outside to look up at the beautiful stars, only I didn't gaze in worship at the creator of those stars, I began to pour out my complaints about our son's illness. At first they trickled out of my mouth slowly, yet it didn't take long until it was a full blown roaring river. I wish I could say that I stopped in horror of what came out of my ugly heart, but no. This went on until morning. I think I slept a few hours. My husband and father invited me to church, but I refused. I never refuse church. Church had been the something precious I looked forward to every week, the stream of refreshment for my soul, but I would not go. I told my husband "No. I am staying here and I'm going to be mad at God."
I sat on the guest bed in my pajamas after they left, my mother staying home with me and working in the kitchen, and I continued my angry, complaining, tantrums. I stared out of the window and looked up to the sky with fierce anger towards God. I can't remember how long this went on but I finally came to an end. Then to my amazement as I continued staring out at the sky, I realized that God had not left me or withdrew Himself. Though I still couldn't sense His nearness...I knew He was still there. Besides the fact that I was not consumed with lightning or wrath...I was so aware of His love for me. The strength and power of that love was very evident to me. The gospel was that strong. To bear with a sinner like me.
And I was still His daughter, and He was still my father.
To be honest, I think it was a few days later that I actually truly asked God to forgive me. I'm not even sure...but somehow in that weekend, what Jesus has done for me...dying on that cross in my place. Becoming the perfect sacrifice for my sins. Somehow my feet were strengthened, standing on that Rock of Christ alone, again. Not that I had not already placed my faith in Christ, but my hope grew, my faith grew. By His grace and strength alone. I saw that His grace was sufficient enough for an ugly, angry heart like mine.
And for sustaining us through this trial. That He had sovereignly and wisely ordained.
Grace and mercy in exchange for my anger and complaining. What kind of love is this?
"And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain—
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, should die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, should die for me?" ~ Charles Wesley
a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46:1, ESV)
Rust. Coarseness. Cold and Industrial. That's how I would define the trial at the time. Somehow, subtly, my magnets became a creative outlet for the hidden screams in my heart and head. And somehow, subtly, a brew of anger was bubbling up in my heart and was about to boil over. A brew that wasn't hidden from God.
I can remember reading the above promise from Psalm 46:1 at times to encourage myself. Only it wasn't encouraging. I remember a time when I felt God's nearness in my walk with Him, yet somehow right in the middle of this seeming nightmarish trial...His presence felt far away. As if God were silent. I began to question God, "Why don't I feel your presence"? I would pray for it...but it seemed elusive. It seemed as if God were intentionally withholding this from me. Purposefully. Strikingly.
It wasn't because I was not seeking God, I prayed, read my Bible voraciously...not because I am so Godly, but because I was so desperate. And weak. I thought, "Lord, if I could just sense your presence, I could endure this trial." But it was not to be so.
And somewhere during this time I began to realize with God's help, that if I couldn't feel God's nearness...then I would simply have to take Him at his Word. Suddenly Psalm 46:1 became a precious promise of faith. I noticed that it doesn't promise me that I would feel God's presence...but that God promises to be very present in my trouble. To be my refuge and strength. I realized that God was growing my faith. And He'd only begun...
Because, see the anger...well it was still there. My husband and I were able to get away for a weekend and visit my parents up north. It was a Saturday night and I couldn't sleep. So I went outside to look up at the beautiful stars, only I didn't gaze in worship at the creator of those stars, I began to pour out my complaints about our son's illness. At first they trickled out of my mouth slowly, yet it didn't take long until it was a full blown roaring river. I wish I could say that I stopped in horror of what came out of my ugly heart, but no. This went on until morning. I think I slept a few hours. My husband and father invited me to church, but I refused. I never refuse church. Church had been the something precious I looked forward to every week, the stream of refreshment for my soul, but I would not go. I told my husband "No. I am staying here and I'm going to be mad at God."
I sat on the guest bed in my pajamas after they left, my mother staying home with me and working in the kitchen, and I continued my angry, complaining, tantrums. I stared out of the window and looked up to the sky with fierce anger towards God. I can't remember how long this went on but I finally came to an end. Then to my amazement as I continued staring out at the sky, I realized that God had not left me or withdrew Himself. Though I still couldn't sense His nearness...I knew He was still there. Besides the fact that I was not consumed with lightning or wrath...I was so aware of His love for me. The strength and power of that love was very evident to me. The gospel was that strong. To bear with a sinner like me.
And I was still His daughter, and He was still my father.
To be honest, I think it was a few days later that I actually truly asked God to forgive me. I'm not even sure...but somehow in that weekend, what Jesus has done for me...dying on that cross in my place. Becoming the perfect sacrifice for my sins. Somehow my feet were strengthened, standing on that Rock of Christ alone, again. Not that I had not already placed my faith in Christ, but my hope grew, my faith grew. By His grace and strength alone. I saw that His grace was sufficient enough for an ugly, angry heart like mine.
And for sustaining us through this trial. That He had sovereignly and wisely ordained.
Grace and mercy in exchange for my anger and complaining. What kind of love is this?
"And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain—
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, should die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, should die for me?" ~ Charles Wesley
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