Anger



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A Long Way Home

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  I'd been in and out of a fugue state for some time.  Questions abounded as uncertainties finger, much less center my mind on a reason.  I felt out-of-sorts, what Mother would describe as not "feeling so brown-skinned."  I never outright asked her what the description meant because she seemed so certain about her status.  After the declaration, typically the rest of her day involved singing a medley of hymns designed to improve her emotional trajectory. I hadn't felt "brown-skinned"  for too long. Spirit had sent friends who wondered how I was doing.  "I haven't heard from you in a while. Is everything alright? " appeared with a metronomic voice or text messaging frequency.   Others sent  Scriptures or encouraging emojis to " "Look and live," my brother live, Look to Jesus now and live; Tis recorded in His word, Hallelujah! It is only that you "look and love." Still, I walked around in a funk. neither up nor down; sad ...
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Ask

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"Ask the Savior to help you, comfort strengthen, and keep you; He is willing to aid you, He will carry you through." In retrospect, I learned two things about my burgeoning relationship with Father God: To actually open my mouth and ask Him for whatever I wanted.  On my 70 mile roundtrip commute to work, I'd mused, "I ought to ask God for this-or-that."  My wish list, though long, never morphed from thought to action.  "I ought to ask God for...", but somehow I never made my "requests known to God," so that "the peace that passes understanding" never materialized. I don't know when the bulb of enlightenment flickered and then stayed on, however dimly.  No. I can't remember the day or hour when I actually asked "God, please fix this Internal Revenue Service (IRS) mess I've gotten myself into."  I didn't shout it out, nor did I whisper.  Yet, He heard! He answered! The problem? Doubting Thomas(ina) th...
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What Now? You’ve survived the unthinkable, an act so devastating, so devious, and so far-reaching that you’d never entertained the thought or possibility that such a thing could happen to you. You’ve tried your best to shield yourself from the truth, to run from what is inescapable. You’ve closed the door on reality, and any path that may have taken you there. Yet, the truth is the truth and the truth is the light, as you’ve heard people say as long as you can remember. “The truth is the light, Baby,” your grandmother used to pronounce. You didn’t understand it then; you don’t understand it now, nor do you care. It happened, that you can’t deny. It happened. Now, what? Now you suffer! You can’t even refer to yourself in the first person, singular pronoun “I.” “ I” now identifies herself as “you,” whoever she is. That hurts too bad and you fear that level of pain is unsustainable. There’s no solace in the lyrics, “it hurts so bad.” Mostly, you’re mute. As days go by, with ...
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