White Hot Rage

The email came from my husband today.  It came about working overtime and the paltry pay they were going to give him for his time. 

It came and as I read words on a screen, pixels right there on bright light, I felt a hot and indignant rage bubble up from the depths and it spewed out my fingers as I rushed off my quick reply.  Spouting the importance of family time and really, his employers should read the law because what they’re asking of him doesn’t line up with the scales of justice.  And blah, blah, blah...

 

And when his response didn’t come quick enough I called him on the phone, forcing him to talk in a less conspicuous place because all of the self-righteousness boiled over and out and all around as my pulse quickened and veins throbbed anger and I begged him to demand his rights. 

 

And my man, he listens as I rant and I rave and let’s my passion for the black and white surge white hot.  He listens and I know I have hurt, that my words and my anger have sliced and cut deep and I can. not. even. think. straight. because rage is having me see red.  I hang up with terse words and a quick “I’ll see you tonight.”  And I can hear is disappointment right there in his goodbye.  And I ignore it, that disappointment, for just a minute as I vibrate with being right and it’s not fair, and they should know better – I ignore it for just a minute because the next thing I read on my screen is this...

 

“I turn away, chin quaking hard. I’ve got a passport in my bag and a ticket to ease and he only gets one life here and he’s living in the desperate need of this one for the definite reward of the next one – and how in the world again am I living mine?” – Ann Voskamp

 

And that justice that I demanded in my white hot rage?  That justice that I begged my husband to pursue?  It is not the justice I want for my life, not how I want to live my life, because what I do in this one life, I do to leave a legacy in the next.

 

And here I sit in my cushy office and tonight I’ll go to my comfortable home with heat and running water and food that fills a fridge and two freezers right to brim.  I sit in all of this luxury and not 15 minutes ago I was begging my husband to squeeze more out of his boss.

 

And my hot rage has turned to hot shame as I recount the ugly of my words.  And God is whispering to me, He is bent down low, lips to my ear as He whispers…

 

“Daughter, did you not just yesterday ask for me to show you the how?   Did you not just ask me to give you a sign that the path I am asking you to take is right and sure and true?  Did you not, while standing in your shower with tears streaming down your face beg me to show you that I am in control? Did you not?”

 

And the conviction of those words, they drive me to my knees and I am so glad that it’s His kindness that leads me to repentance, to just for a moment bask in the grace of what has been covered by the Cross.

 

So today, with my heart in hands and a whispered “I’m sorry” I leave you with this question that broke down the anger...

 

“Are we entangled in Christ and loving His family or are we entangled in culture and its pressures to have all of its stuff?” – Ann Voskamp

 

And friends?  A quiet encouragement to go here to read the rest of this blog that took my feet out from under me and landed me on my knees.