Category Archives: Anger

fractured

GGma 3 - Version 2

Almost four weeks ago I broke my hand.  It has been hard to write to say the least and I wish I could say I am using the time to relax, because that was my intention.  But as always it has been busy.  My plan, I hope, is to use the last week and a half to do just that.

One thing that struck me, and is why I am telling you this, was when I left the urgent care after learning my hand was indeed broken, quite well the doctor remarked, and with the threat of surgery looming over my head, I walked out the doors and lost it.  I broke down.  I was left with overwhelming emptiness, shame, and anger.

A couple days later, I thought about it and realized that was the same feeling I felt when I left the abortion clinic.  In an instant I was brought back to that place.  I saw myself walk out those doors, and down the steps.  In that moment I felt nothing and everything.

I grieved deeply.

As I sit here and type one handed (of which I am getting really good at and thank-you spell check!), I am looking forward to the days of one-handed typing to be behind me.  But like my abortion, lessons that are harder learned will be with me forever and maybe that is a good thing for it was George Santayana who said, “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

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surrender part four

click here to see part one
click here to see part two
click here to see part three

but their heart will never beat

Haunting words from a song this morning.  Just kinda hit me today…

a reason for life…but their heart will never beat

Oh what have we lost because we chose, we’ll never know
And all our claims to freedom have become these heavy chains
And in the name of rights we keep filling nameless graves

Let the tears fall down…Let them soften this ground…Let our hearts be found…

God forgive us now

 

violent past

I just finished writing a short story that I submitted to a contest today.  The whole story came from a smaller event that was actually true.  It was something I stuffed deep and one day it surfaced.

When  a friend was reading this story, I explained that this part was actually true.  He was angry for me.  It was comforting in a way, but also disturbing.  I was disturbed that I had hid it away, and just chocked it up to something normal that happens.  But it wasn’t and my story brought out this injustice.  I locked the truth so tight that I could almost imagine it hadn’t happened at all.

We all hide different things in our past and press them down under layers.  It’s not easy to talk about our stories because sometimes they are ugly, bloody scabs that try to heal but they don’t because we haven’t let them.  We rip off the bandaid and put something on top of it that just ends up infecting it worse.

I have another friend that likens the process to peeling off the layers of an onion, we deal with one thing at a time until we finally come to the core.  It think that best describes the post abortion healing process.  We peel back these layers and deal with one aspect of the abortion at a time.  It allows for God’s healing to soak in.

Like my friend, I am angry for you if you have had an abortion.  I want to fight for you and your feelings.  I want you to be able to surrender this secret.  To not be held captive by it any longer.  Break the chains that define and bind you!

the battle within

Anger flies in on a gentle breeze when I least expect it. It doesn’t announce its silent mission. It penetrates the barriers I have put up. What I thought was a fortress, it easily demolishes. The warriors that have sworn to protect have fallen. It darkens my soul and my countenance easily wavers.

There is anger at the loss, anger at those involved, anger at the situation. But most of all there is anger at myself. I envision a character standing above, pointing a bony finger at me. “You chose incorrectly.” And I know I did. The pain and truth of the words cut through me severing my paths of what could have been. I am doomed to a life of imprisonment.

Anger comes and goes. Years of emptiness inside a tomb I created. Regret. Shame. Pain. They are the scars that come from the choice I have to bear. I am told I shouldn’t feel this way. I am told that it was a simple procedure. But my heart knows differently. My heart wants to feel the loss, but my mind contradicts. So the battle ensues.

White light crashes. It pierces the darkness. I feel the warmth. But cannot adjust my eyes to its brilliance. The truth seeps into the crevices of my soul, the empty places that have been broken open. Healing. Hope. Love. The two forces collide and the battle continues. The darkness cannot hide. The light penetrates.

The Great Exchange: Truth for lies. Freedom for the captive. Beauty instead of ashes. Gladness instead of mourning. Restoration instead of devastation.

What could I do? How can I repay? Nothing. Just love, forgive as I have forgiven and loved you.

a new perspective

This summer I was privileged to be on the other side of our Surrendering the Secret groups.  I was not leading one, but I was able to serve in a different way by making goodies a couple times for their meetings and last weekend my friend and I made dinner for their retreat on Friday night.

It was a strange feeling being a part of it, yet being removed from the lessons, the stories, the journey.

While the women were eating their dinner in the other room there was a lot of talking and laughter and though I didn’t know anything of what brought them to this point, I smile knowing the path to healing they are on and the weight that has been lifted up.

It was a wonderful blessing to still be a part of it, but in a different way.

signs

Sign, signs everywhere signs…

It is rumored that the Westboro Baptist Church from Kanas might visit a local city here and protest a funeral from one of our fallen soldiers.  Seriously who can walk around with a sign that reads, “God hates your tears” or “Thank God for dead soldiers”.  These are the very soldiers that are fighting for their freedom to stand there.  I hear these types of stories and I don’t understand.  I am angered and I am almost speechless.

But I LOVE how a student in Texas rose above and organized a group to create a human wall to block the protesters from the family (protestors never showed up).

It’s like those who are pro-life and shoot abortionists, or show up to a clinic yelling and screaming at the women who enter.  The bloody signs are not helping the point you want to make.  Where is the gentleness, patience, kindness, peace, goodness, love?

We all carry signs around visible and invisible.  What do you want to say with your life?