I missed a chance yesterday. God was calling me to pray. He knew I was angry. Meanwhile, our friend John is going through some health difficulties of a very serious kind. Other friends took it to the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. Anyway, it was the perfect chance, even while not being able to make the Holy Hour. And I missed it.
On the one hand, it's stupid to be angry about this. It's over. It's done. And I guess it was my fault. And you can say anything you want about how the words I said really hurt, etc. and how I'm not who you thought (even though that isn't true). But you will never get me to say that I'm a bad person. I can't do it. I know my character. And so, I'm still angry about it.
I think I'm angry in an acceptable way, because I don't wish ill on anyone. Far from it. I hope for everyone the best. Especially if you're here. I really do value whatever time you spend reading my incoherent blatherings. That's truly what they are. Everything I produce on paper concerning God or theology (or anything else) comes by here first. I don't spend a whole lot of time crafting these posts; just what it takes to produce them is all I use. I have self-edited from time to time when I thought something was too caustic or not with a good purpose, but that's as I go.
Anyway, I just thought you should know. On the good side, I didn't miss my chance entirely, because I prayed for John again before I went to sleep. Still, to offer Him my anger and sadness right as I was feeling it would have been better. On yet another hand, I feel it every day, so it's in the offering if I pray even once. I'm sure Jesus loves receiving gifts of anger and frustration, but that's what I have.
I am a person of words. Words are my life. I've given poems as wedding gifts. I would have made a sooner start on writing as a career had I realized it. Honestly, I thought everyone wrote poems and songs when the fancy struck. It doesn't mean you should make it a life. But then, that providential day in the classroom of Dr. Donald Guthrie...He has no idea. We're not Facebook friends, and I didn't tell him. How would I have known? Esther, too, she doesn't know. I digress. [She does now.--ed.]
Words are powerful. Maybe among the most powerful things in the universe. Bob Dylan is a musician. I don't know how good he is (and apparently, people debate this), but I do know he is famous for his words. Reagan? Words. Examples are plentiful. I have hurt others with mine, obviously more than I could realize or understand. I didn't set out to do it, that's the truth. But I have been hurt, too. And in this case, I don't think it's fair that this hurt--my hurt--goes unacknowledged.
O God, I offer You all this--the joy of words, the hurt, the broken friendship, the anger it causes--all for John and his healing. I offer it through Christ, the Prince of Peace, who lives and reigns with You, Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
On the one hand, it's stupid to be angry about this. It's over. It's done. And I guess it was my fault. And you can say anything you want about how the words I said really hurt, etc. and how I'm not who you thought (even though that isn't true). But you will never get me to say that I'm a bad person. I can't do it. I know my character. And so, I'm still angry about it.
I think I'm angry in an acceptable way, because I don't wish ill on anyone. Far from it. I hope for everyone the best. Especially if you're here. I really do value whatever time you spend reading my incoherent blatherings. That's truly what they are. Everything I produce on paper concerning God or theology (or anything else) comes by here first. I don't spend a whole lot of time crafting these posts; just what it takes to produce them is all I use. I have self-edited from time to time when I thought something was too caustic or not with a good purpose, but that's as I go.
Anyway, I just thought you should know. On the good side, I didn't miss my chance entirely, because I prayed for John again before I went to sleep. Still, to offer Him my anger and sadness right as I was feeling it would have been better. On yet another hand, I feel it every day, so it's in the offering if I pray even once. I'm sure Jesus loves receiving gifts of anger and frustration, but that's what I have.
I am a person of words. Words are my life. I've given poems as wedding gifts. I would have made a sooner start on writing as a career had I realized it. Honestly, I thought everyone wrote poems and songs when the fancy struck. It doesn't mean you should make it a life. But then, that providential day in the classroom of Dr. Donald Guthrie...He has no idea. We're not Facebook friends, and I didn't tell him. How would I have known? Esther, too, she doesn't know. I digress. [She does now.--ed.]
Words are powerful. Maybe among the most powerful things in the universe. Bob Dylan is a musician. I don't know how good he is (and apparently, people debate this), but I do know he is famous for his words. Reagan? Words. Examples are plentiful. I have hurt others with mine, obviously more than I could realize or understand. I didn't set out to do it, that's the truth. But I have been hurt, too. And in this case, I don't think it's fair that this hurt--my hurt--goes unacknowledged.
O God, I offer You all this--the joy of words, the hurt, the broken friendship, the anger it causes--all for John and his healing. I offer it through Christ, the Prince of Peace, who lives and reigns with You, Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
Comments