I'm not an angry person. That is what I just confidently told a friend a few days ago in response to her wondering if I had been experiencing the "stages of grief" so often written about, including the "anger stage." I'm not an angry person. I don't get angry. I'm not angry at the doctors or at God that my daughter lived only a few minutes into her fourth birthday. Sad? Of course. Devastated? Yes! Overwhelmed? Absolutely. But angry? Not me!
Here I am, a few days later, blood boiling because of a note I got in the mail from a well-meaning friend indicating that maybe I'm not handling things as well as I could be. (At least that's how I took it!) And suddenly the kind and caring messages from all of those well-intended supporters are driving me crazy! YOU DON'T GET IT, I want to scream at them. All the lovely words and sweet poems do nothing to relieve the heartache. I already KNOW what the Bible says, and yes, I believe it with my whole heart. But I don't want to HEAR it right now, at least not when it seems to come with the expectation that my tears should cease because of it.
Don't talk to me about your sports team woes, or your beauty issues, or your sick pet, or your crazy schedule. Can't you see how meaningless all of that is? How can I care about any of that when every moment of every day I ache for my little girl. How can you expect me to take an interest in any of it?
Good thing I'm not an angry person.
"Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place. Do not drag me away with the wicked, with those who do evil, who speak cordially with their neighbors but harbor malice in their hearts...Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him and I am helped." From Psalm 28
