I realized something profound this summer. I have done my best to push and shove and stomp down the hurt I have felt over some things God has allowed to happen to me. I have been offended by Him. And I would have denied it to the bitter end because of the terrifying collision my upbringing taught me to trust in Him had with my scabbed over heart.
The Psalms and the prophet Jeremiah have just leapt off the page of Scripture to me during the last several months. I have been astounded by the way God let some of the writers of Scripture talk to Him. Take Jeremiah for instance:
1 I am the man who has seen affliction
by the rod of his wrath.
2 He has driven me away and made me walk
in darkness rather than light;
3 indeed, he has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.
4 He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
and has broken my bones.
5 He has besieged me and surrounded me
with bitterness and hardship.
6 He has made me dwell in darkness
like those long dead.
7 He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
he has weighed me down with chains.
8 Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
9 He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.
Lamentations 3:1-9
And who is the He being accused of these things in these verses? God Himself. Jeremiah was no rookie at this point. He pleaded with Judah for forty years to return to God. Jeremiah was mocked, beaten, and thrown into a cistern as a result of being obedient to God. And God recorded Jeremiah’s lament, his broken heart and unanswered questions, because He is big enough to take them. God never once second-guesses Himself. He is never stabbed with remorse over something He did for our good that we cannot understand. He is the all-wise, all sufficient, self-existent One who is beyond searching out.
And I thought that because my feelings were “bad” and unspiritual, I could hide them from the Lord – the One who knows every thought and word of mine before I think or say it. So I walked around with a pouty spirit, like a child who had been overlooked by a parent playing favorites. I read this today in Matthew 13:57-58:
And they took offense at him.
But Jesus said to them, “Only in his hometown and in his own house is a prophet without honor.”
And he did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith.
Not openly admitting my offense over what the Lord has allowed to happen to me directly affects my ability to see Him work in my situation. I need to just cry it out. To tell Him from the depths of my soul where I am offended. He gives me the right to come before His throne of grace in my time of need. But sometimes I would much rather sit and sulk and walk around with a chip on my shoulder than receive healing. I would rather continue my misguided judgment of Him letting me down than to acknowledge to Him that I am having to trouble understanding what He is doing. Sometimes I just want to remain sick rather than to be healed.
How grateful I am that His love is unconditional, that He is close to the brokenhearted, the weak, the sick. But I will miss out on knowing that love, knowing His presence, knowing His strength and knowing His healing if I continue to not admit my disappointment and hurt. He’s my Abba. He’s my Daddy – the One who knows what broke my heart and what will heal it.
I must let Him.
