I am angry. Angry for a friend. Angry for her children. Angry at her husband, who walked out several months ago. And as the months go by it seems that he is not coming back. He has, it seems, made choices one by one that separated him from his family, bit by bit. The further he got, the fainter their voices became. Their hold on him slipped away and he ran, legs pumping, heart pounding, towards something that wasn't his.
And left what was his-- still is his-- behind to scratch their heads and cry their tears and wonder about an uncertain future that no longer includes the leader of their home. This was once a good man, a godly man, a man "least likely" to be in this situation.
And I am angry about it. Anger that makes me want to scream, punch, kick. Instead I grab my computer and write this. I let the anger come through my fingertips, easing out of me just a bit, like the top of a soda bottle opened just slightly, to let the pressure off. Before the whole thing explodes.
The anger is eased but it isn't gone. It will go and come as it has in these past weeks. Some days I am filled with hope and prayers and compassion (I know) for this man. I remember that, even in his sin, God loves him. I know that, but by the grace of God, go I. I remember the height from which I have fallen and how Jesus warned us about planks in our own eyes. And somehow I find a way to pray for him, to ask God again for a miracle. But then some days I am just plain angry. Angry for my friend. Angry for her children.
Psalm 4:4-5, "In your anger, do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent. Offer right sacrifices and trust in the Lord."