Posted on by She Who Rises

Back to the Basics Pt. II

🎶Social media’s affecting my obedience 🎶


The lyrics of Franchesca’s song, Time Away, couldn’t be more true. For her, it was Tiktok. For me, it’s been Instagram, Facebook, and even Reddit. At the end of a long day, it’s the first few minutes after dinner where a quick jaunt across the internet seems harmless. But too soon, the sentimental feeling that follows a clip of The Cosby Show has me chasing a high. Before I know it, I’m up scrolling three hours past my bedtime.

It didn’t seem like that much time had passed. Yet, here I am. And now, with less time for rest between now and tomorrow’s workday, I realize my mistake. I played myself, and tomorrow, I’m going to suffer.

When I wake up the next morning, I find it all to be true. Groggy and slow, it takes more effort to get up and get going. After hitting the snooze button again and again, I finally pop up half an hour (or more) later. I’m not late, not really. I’m tired and may have to rush a bit, but I’ll still make it to work (mostly) on time. It’s no big deal, right?

Wrong.

Those few hours of scrolling cost me something precious. What,  you ask?
My quiet time in the morning with God.

Instead of waking up and having the time to reach for my Bible for a little quiet contemplation of my God and some journaling, I’m headed straight to the shower. My mind is focused on the ten things I need to do to get ready and out the door. Not the qualities I admire about my savior.

I listen to worship music as I get ready and the word on my Bible app along my commute, just because. I’m not trying to win brownie points. It’s not about whether it “counts.” I’m trying to fortify myself with the word. But still, it isn’t the same.

My quiet time with God clears my head. It centers me like nothing else can. In the past, it has armored and fortified me in ways I couldn’t see until years later. Truthfully, it sets me up for a day of internal peace despite any chaos happening around me. This isn’t hyperbole. It’s direct experience.

Less than ten years ago, I worked in an extremely toxic environment where land mines existed in nearly every interaction. And where I intended to or not, I set them off regularly. When I reflect on my time there, I’m amazed at how I made it through. Despite many, many opportunities to lose my cool, I didn’t take the bait. I wasn’t in therapy or on medications at the time. But I did keep a regular early morning and pre-bedtime date with God and my journal.

Truly, the value of my morning quiet time with God really can’t be overstated. Yet, I’ve neglected it, this quality time that only benefits me, for what… the black hole of social media? For entertainment? If I can even call it that.

All the other stuff plays its part. Worship and listening to the word is necessary and has its place. But, like them, journaling my prayers to Jesus is it’s own thing.

It’s those hours scrolling, wasting time that could’ve been spent in almost a million more productive ways that robbed me of the peace that comes from that quiet time in the early hours of the day. I could’ve been sleeping instead. Then, I could’ve actually woken up with the time and energy to tackle the most important moment of my day.

Even a blind person can see that a break is in order. So, I’m cutting the chord, at least temporarily, and removing another barrier between me and the peace I’ve been seeking. Thankfully, based on God’s track record, I know God will be there to welcome me back. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Back to the Basics

A slow buzzing enters my dreamscape, silky piano notes following close behind.  My hazy dreams pass away as my brain registers the sound and I open my eyes. It’s my alarm. Hitting snooze, I turn over, hoping for a slow five minute reprieve before facing the day.

The next time I open my eyes, it’s without prompting, nearly 30 minutes later. Crap! Already, I’m running late. But instead of running to the shower, I unlock my phone.
I’m not headed to IG, a news or music app. Instead, I open my Bible app.

This old habit is one I’ve struggled to maintain over the last year. Talking to God every morning in my journal, offering praise and gratitude and dissecting the promises in the word would normally take, at least, an hour.  And I’d still have a hard time pulling myself away.

Spending this kind of time with God almost every single day fortified me in a way that I’m only noticing in it’s absence. I have a nagging suspicion that this shift is why I’ve been struggling with doubt and intense anxiety so much more lately. 

Instead of running to my Bible or my knees in worship, I’m usually running to the shower and flying through the rest of my morning routine. No quiet contemplation of ancient promises. No confession of the worries that attacked me the minute I awoke. No songs of praise to welcome the divine presence into my space.

Now don’t get me wrong, I still speak to and honor the Most High. But worried pleas for help sandwiched between the lyrics of worship songs as I make my way to work doesn’t have the same effect. And the difference is staggering. The worries and workplace chaos that rise up over the course of the day shake me in ways I havent experienced in years.

When I think about it, I see that the most dire and difficult times in my life also happen to be when I felt the closest to the Most High. But now, in the midst of all this anxiety and struggle, God feels far away. Knowing what I know about God, through study, but mostly experience, I know it’s not because God is too busy, tied up elsewhere. It’s because I am.

Somehow, right before I started my current job, I let things slip. My daily appointment with God became a less crucial, less regular kind of thing that evolved into whatever rushed, sometimey, inconsistent thing it is now.

I still play worship music.  I still talk to God throughout the day, like God is right beside me, because I believe that God is. I still journal my prayers. I still read the bible… Just, not as frequently or with the same fervor I once had, not with that desperate need to include God in every aspect of my day in a variety of ways.

Nothing has been the same since. Why should it be? I can’t expect God to give me more faith, more peace, more anything, while I offer less and less. God is full of grace. So our gracious God may still provide more and more, but that’s not at all fair. And it’s not something I would accept.

Eventually, we all get tired and no one wants to be taken advantage of by anyone, even those they love. While the Bible says that God neither sleeps nor slumbers, so therefore doesn’t get tired, we do know that we get on the Most High’s nerves. THAT fact, is all over the Bible for our education (and sometimes entertainment). But that’s not a dynamic that I want in my relationship with God and I mean that wholeheartedly.

So, I’m recommitting myself, getting back to the basics with my God – making worship, prayer, and reading the Bible a priority again. I don’t expect to be perfect at it – 100% consistent from the jump.

But I do expect that consistency to grow and that comforting sense of closeness to God to return over time. Because I suspect that I’m not the only one who’s noticed a difference in our relationship. I’m almost certain that God’s been patiently waiting for me to notice and make a u-turn this whole time, right from the start. I’m sure that God’s BEEN ready, and now, I am too. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Doubting the Doubt

It’s raining. And it’s pouring. But despite all of that, I’m rushing from the cube farm where I work to my car in a panic. I feel a migraine coming on and, with it, an intense and unyielding fear. The tense muscles in my shoulders and lower back echo the ugly thoughts bouncing off the walls in my head.

“You’re not good enough. You’re in over your head. You’re gonna fumble this and expose the imposter at your core. Quit now while you still can.”

As you know, the devil be devilin’ – waging a battle in my mind that paralyzes me, at least, for a time. 

As does my inner critic who often berates and beats me down, while trying to protect me from further pain. It’s a tough room.

Yet, being well aware of all this, I’m still shook over here.

I am completely overwhelmed by fear that I will fail at this important project, despite God’s promises to help and my years of experience with God as evidence.

I am afraid that I’m too broken for God to use me for something great. I’m afraid that God is powerful. But not powerful enough to keep the promise using me. Anyone else, sure. But me? Not at all.

I am filled with fear and all of this doubt sprouts from that highly charged place.

I’ve been struggling with these thoughts from day 1 and they have only grown more intense. But then yesterday, the Holy Spirit reminded me that fear isn’t real. And then like hitting a switch, I remembered that fear acronym. Fear is False Evidence Appearing Real.

As this realization began to sink in, I realized that fear is a mirage – an illusion, like the appearance of water in the glaring sunlight. It’s not anything to trust or build a foundation on.

It’s a trick of the enemy because there is no fear in love. And I know that I am deeply loved by my creator.

It brought me back to something I’d heard countless times, but never really understood. In my prayers, the phrase “doubt the doubt” kept appearing in my mind. I’d heard joyce meyer say it years ago and hadnt really thought about it much since then. Despite hearing it over and over for a year or more in my prayers, I never quite understood it. Until now.

Remembering that fear is a mirage, a 4D IMAX level illusion, IS doubting the doubt. It’s questioning its authenticity, validity, and its motives. It’s saying, “Nah, I don’t believe you. You’re not real.” And in doing so, slapping the enemy in the face and making him kick rocks.

So, I doubt that doubt… until the next time.

Posted on by She Who Rises

God is GOOD

I AM GOOD

You don’t have to understand it for it to be true.

My thoughts are higher than yours. As are my ways. Trust me,  you won’t get it. But I am still good. In fact, I am the very definition.

I AM GOOD.

I’m the only one who truly is. Others try to act like they are good, but they can’t pull it off. How could they? They really aren’t even sure what it is to be good. Why?

Because they’re not me. I’m the one who decides.

I AM GOOD.


I am the standard – my ways, my thoughts. And who but me and the closest ones to me – my spirit and my son – could know that so well? 

Good is what I bring forth in the earth. The creatures made to my exacting standards. The systems within you and around you that always strive toward balance – the original symphony.

What is not good is what so often happens once what I’ve created is in the hands of people. But I AM STILL GOOD.

I take what you’ve ravished and destroyed, and breathe life into it until it becomes a new thing – a good thing, again.

With my refreshment, it brings to the world the good that I imagined it would. And it spreads near and far. It does all that I intend.

And because I am good, I’ll do the same with you. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

From Doubt to Faith

Doubt is a place.

When I think about doubt, I imagine a physical space, an actual place. It’s desolate, gray and windswept with bare trees and flying dust instead of firm, rich soil – a place completely devoid of life. This place is where I end up whenever my trust Issues show up in my relationship with God.

Despite knowing that God is good and having plenty of evidence to back it up, I still question God’s faithfulness – whether God will show up in my most desperate moments. I even second guess the seal of approval that I inherited from Jesus. My anxiety sometimes overruns my faith, and when I look up, I’m in that gloomy, desolate place. In doubt, the creativity, clarity, wisdom and peace that I need to navigate life seems impossible to access.

My last post was a retelling of a recent dream. In it, I stood on a modern version of the biblical Noah’s ark. I was being whisked away from a place of danger and loss. Yet, anxious about all that I’d left behind, especially who and what they might think, I had lept into the water, intending to return to that forsaken place.

In jumping, I had rejected the safety of the Ark and the promise of something better wherever it was headed. And it wasn’t until I found myself carried away from the ship that continued onward without me that I realized how bad an idea that had been.

Though I busily treaded water to stay afloat, the hazy gloom of doubt within me – the doubt that had caused me to jump – made it impossible to know what to do next. I was stuck and alone. But then, the most amazing thing happened.

Jesus, who I hadn’t even realized was there, dove in after me.

Just like the shepherd searching for the single sheep who had wandered away from the flock of 99 others.

I didn’t even have to ask…

He found me, barely held together. Yet, after the considerable effort of reaching me, I was surprised to see that his demeanor didn’t show even a speck of frustration or anger. 

In fact, all I saw in his eyes was concern and clear-eyed understanding. My only response had been love, gratitude, and … wonder. Then, I woke up.

Well over a month later, it still blows my mind. I mean, what kind of love is this?

It’s teaching me that God’s love for me is thorough and unbreakable. This God knows me intimately, and none of what I do is a surprise or a burden that God is unwilling to bear with me or help me navigate. It’s helping me to see that there’s no scenario where God won’t show up, even in doubt. And it’s recharging my faith.

What about you?

How has God shown up in your doubt? 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

In it with me

A cloudy gray sky hovers above my head. I’m so high up that I wonder whether I can grab a piece. Its clouds conceal everything above and most of what surrounds me.

Its particular shade of gray is only slightly lighter than the gunmetal coloring the expanse beneath my feet. I’m on a ship – a giant machine sprawling around me. But it’s not just any ship.

It’s an ark, like Noah’s, with no discernable openings, yet here I am perched on its surface. The ship cuts through the choppy and frothy mix of gray and white waters below. The water, like the sky above and the ship in between, seems endless.

Though everything about this scene denotes solitude, I am not alone. There are others on a different quadrant of the ships surface, laughing and lounging in swimwear despite the gloom around them – living as if the sun is on full display.

They may as well be a million miles away from me or in another world even. But they don’t capture my attention for long. My mind is occupied by thoughts of those I left behind. People, places, things, and especially, what others may be thinking.

So, I jump.

Crashing into the choppy water, I sink just a little, the force of my weight pressing me down, then bouncing me back up to the surface. Once my head reaches the surface, I am immediately overwhelmed. I didn’t have a plan B. I didn’t think about what I’d do next. And so I have little choice but to let the water carry me wherever it chose.

I flow backward towards structures that I can only see now, at this level, on the water.  I hear a distant splash as I nearly float past the corner of a giant brick wall to my side. I grab it and hold on for dear life. Behind it, I can see what looks like a flooded city, empty and silent. I turn to look toward the sea, at the rear of the Ark moving swiftly away, and I see something headed my way. I freeze in place, anticipating the worst.

As it gets closer, I can see that it is a person, a person swimming. Then, I see that it is someone I recognize. It’s someone that I know. And at once, I feel wonder, relief, and to my surprise, love – genuine and heartfelt. Tears overrun my eyes and fall into the churning waters around me as he swims close.

It’s Jesus. He came in after me.

He swims to the wall where I am anchored in place with a look of concern and understanding on his face. He knows me. He knows why I jumped. And he knows that I have no idea what I am doing. Yet, he’s here anyway, in it with me. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Taking the Credit

Beads of sweat gather on my forehead and course toward my eyes, trying to blind me with their saltiness.

Squat. Push. Press.

Squat. Push. Press. Squat…

I push my butt down toward the floor and pump my body up, raising the weights in my hands above my head as I come up. I’ve been at this for a minute, huffing my way through a couple of 12 rep sets. The painful tension across my muscles is a good pain.

It feels good to sweat. It feels good to be back in the gym after a long hiatus… after completely falling off the wagon once again.  It’s been several weeks in a row now and I’m proud of myself.

Squat. Push. Press.

I watch myself in the mirror and think about how well my new job is going, how my hopefully well-rested brain is managing all that I’m learning day to day. I think about how life seems to be getting better in general, after the intense difficulty of the past 12 months.

When my thoughts return to the tension in my muscles, I consider, with inward approval, how I’m back at it – banging out consistent muscle-building workouts in the gym.

And with words I no longer remember, I say to myself some version of “Girl, you did that!”

“YOU?” – I hear, not with my ears, but inwardly, and immediately know that I’ve screwed up.

I pause mid-air. “Uh, I mean, um, not in that way. I know it’s always you God.”

The boastfulness of the moment before has evaporated in even less time. But it’s still too late. The contents of my heart have spilled out and it is not good.

I hadn’t even made it through a single project at work or rebuilt a muscle to flex, and here I was, already trying to take the credit.

God had led me to stop working, I thought, for a short time. Then I had actually lost my job because I couldn’t return full time. I wasted money on an expensive medical treatment that didn’t work. And blew through my savings and humble unemployment benefits. Yet, I didn’t miss one meal, therapy appointment, or essential medication, nor did I need to run from any bill. I was covered, completely.

By the time God told me to return to work (away from my prior employer) and I landed a job over six months later, I’d had plenty of evidence that I wasn’t the reason that I was still standing. The struggle had been real and I knew that the only reason I hadn’t lost it was because of God’s being in it with me.

There’s a reason the Bible says that pride comes before a fall (Proverbs 16:18).

Because it does. 

After that fateful day at the gym, before I even knew what was happening, I was off the wagon again – at home snacking and sleeping instead of putting in work at the gym. Unruly hormones ravaged my skin and my sense of normalcy, making me moody, exhausted, stuck in my negative thoughts and even more anxious all at once.

I experienced some scary deja vu as I was back to feeling bone tired after work, struggling to concentrate, getting easily confused by what I read and finding it difficult to follow along in conversations. I had fallen far and it was terrifying.

But why? I’d had the memories of the last year etched into my psyche. I didn’t need to relive them in order to be reminded of their difficulty or how I had needed to cling to God to help me through each and every day.

Or so I thought.

I bounced back, but apparently, I did need that reminder, and it was nothing nice. Thankfully, I know that getting the lesson now saves me from having to repeat it later. That is, if I don’t forget again.

Thankfully, this is the kind of God we have. One who doesn’t share the credit for miracles. But who also won’t abandon us when we forget to give credit where it’s due or, even, when we try to steal it for ourselves.

💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Training Days

At a family pool party, adults and kids alike playfully bounce around in the water, racing and chasing each other from one side to the other. Others fly down the slide, off the diving board, or stretch out in chairs arranged along the sidelines. It’s the height of summer, and for everyone in attendance, this party is a welcome distraction from regular life. Fun is the only expectation anyone has today.

On the sidelines, three girls are introduced by their parents and then walk circles around the pool chatting. Two of them are sisters who ask the third girl whether she can swim. “Oh yeah,” she says emphatically. “I can swim really well. I’m out here swimming all the time.”

At just that moment, as if on cue, her father walks by. In a moment of pure playfulness, he takes his hips and swings them in his daughters direction, bumping into her side. It’s a silly thing he does every now and again as a joke, usually without consequence. But this time, as his hip connects with hers, she is catapulted, fully-clothed, into the swimming pool to her right – in the deep end.

Shocked by the cold water and her rapid change in circumstances, the girl – the avid swimmer – flails about, choking down mouthfuls of chlorinated water while struggling to stay afloat. She isn’t consciously aware that everyone is looking at her, but nevertheless, on some level, she understands that she has become a spectacle.

Somehow, through squinted eyes, she finds an arm that’s extended in her direction, grabs it, and is pulled out. Once on solid ground, she bolts indoors, well away from the other party-goers, especially the two sisters to whom she had just told a boldface lie.

Locking herself in a bedroom, her immediate plan is to stay there for the rest of her life or at least until everyone else leaves. But soon after, a knock on the door announces her father’s arrival. He asks to come in and apologizes for embarrassing her.

He says he had acted completely without thinking. It never occurred to him that she might fall in. He tries to convince her to change her clothes and rejoin the party, which surprisingly, she does.

She doesn’t blame him for her embarrassment. She knows it’s her fault, or at least, she believes it is. Why?

Because she lied. She didn’t know God well, but after hearing adults say “God don’t like ugly” again and again, she had learned what ugly was and that it came with consequences.

Lying was ugly. Falling in the pool and the exposure and embarrassment that came with it had been a consequence. Extremely swift justice. And it would never be forgotten.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, that little girl was me. Only a few days ago, I was recounting this story to a friend. Afterward, we giggled til tears flowed down our cheeks. It wasn’t funny then, but it cracks me up now.

We were talking about the times when God had to get us straight about something. Talk about unlocking a core memory! This lesson sits just below the surface of my mind, flying straight to the top when the temptation to be dishonest comes creeping on the scene. The painful reminder of the consequences that came with that choice way back then stops me from getting out of pocket today. God nipped that in the bud … quickly. And I still don’t want no smoke.

It’s the same thing a good parent might do to keep their child on the right path. A cosmic spanking to remind you of what NOT to do. And it worked, at least, for me.

That doesn’t mean that it stopped me from ever being dishonest again. But it did make me quick to come clean and course correct, and later, as I matured, heed the warnings and reminders the Holy Spirit would send my way to avoid those traps altogether. 

It didn’t mean that trouble would never find me. But it might be true that if I hadn’t learned that lesson, the lies would’ve been what sent the trouble my way. I may never know, but I think it pays to be cautious about this kind of thing.

And to think, my earthly parents weren’t aware of any of it. God, my creator, handled it all just between us. It’s just one example of God raising me, right alongside my family, filling in gaps they didn’t even know existed. Spotting the dirty parts of my heart and rinsing it clean before anyone else noticed. Who does that?

God, Yahweh – a loving creator, Jesus – a selfless savior and a beautiful Holy Spirit, that’s who. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Find your way back

In my sanctified imagination, I see a woman running through the woods, whizzing past the impossibly tall trees surrounding her. To make her way through, she squeezes between densely packed tree trunks, climbs over their fallen brethren, and combs through the thick and thorny underbrush that cuts into her clothes and the skin below. The birds above and the critters below warn each other of her passing, a raucous symphony happening around her. But they stay out of her way.

There’s no path or trail for her to follow, only the sun, moon, stars, and a sweet, small voice inside her to guide the way. She’s tired but can’t stand to rest. There’s no time to waste.

She’s crossed cities and seas, mountain ranges, and low-lying plains trying to find her way back to the pieces of herself she left behind. Finally, finally, she’s close. She can’t see it or tell how long until she reaches it, but somehow, she has certainty. She’s so close, she can feel it.

On the horizon, just beyond the edge of the wooded landscape sits the home where she left them. It’s the burial place of her emotions – something she never thought she would need.

Where she came from emotions weren’t a thing, and really, there were only three, happiness, anger, and sometimes fear. The emotional palette she was born with wasn’t useful or welcome. So, to cope, she buried it, not knowing that self-love, compassion, and healing would require them someday.

In their absence, she became cold, relying heavily on what was left, her intellect, to guide her. But when she met God, they eased her into the understanding that she was missing something important, something necessary to be who they made her to be. So, she had to go back.

She had run so far – around the world, in fact. She hoped this return would be worth it. She hoped that she wasn’t too late.

For what? She didn’t know. Could they be ruined? Become misshapen and ill-fitting? Completely destroyed even? But God wouldn’t send her if success wasn’t an option. God wouldn’t do that.

There’s silence around her now as she nears the edge of the wilderness. The chatty birds and scurrying animals seem to be holding their breath. As she continues forward, the treeline gets thinner and thinner, gradually revealing the simple home set in the meadow beyond them.

Stopping at the grass, she released her breath, only afterward realizing that she had been holding it. She hadn’t known what to expect. The well-maintained scene before her is a welcome surprise. Who had kept this place, she wondered.

As she gazed across the field, movement by the house caught her eye. The front door had opened, and something was thrown out of it. It fluttered out and down onto the front steps and didn’t move. She watched this happen again and again until the steps were barely visible.

Moving in closer, she could see that a vibrant mix of yellows, greens, oranges, reds, pinks and purples, a rainbow of color, in varying shapes and sizes covered the ground around the door. Wait, are those … flower petals?

She scanned the area around her. She thought she was alone in this place, but clearly, whoever was in the home was expecting company.

She figured that if she wanted to get hold of what she came for, she better get it now before whatever the owner of the house was expecting got started. With determination, she swiftly crossed the grassy field, closing the ample distance between wooded wilderness and the house.

Now nearing the blanket of petals, she noticed a small sign hung to the right of the door. In handwritten script, it said “Welcome” and her name. Shocked, she stepped backward, tears welling in her eyes. “This is for me?,” she said aloud. But there was no response. It was obvious, she thought to herself.

“Hello?” She said, cautiously stepping forward, hoping a friendly voice would greet her. But again, no response. She swallowed hard. In a split-second, this had become scary. But she had come so far. It was now or never.

Gathering her courage, she walked through the petals, gathering a handful on the way, and up onto the stairs, stopping at the open door. Just beyond it was a brilliant, almost blinding light. She looked away, unable to handle the glare.

A few seconds later, she tried again and now found it easier to take in. She couldn’t make out a distinct size or shape, but soon felt a warm, calming sensation course through her body, as if confirming that she was safe. In the space of a moment, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to be and crossed the threshold into the light.

Posted on by She Who Rises

What therapy taught me about God and anger

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. It’s almost fall, but it’s still warm enough to wear shorts. In this mild evening air, a brisk walk has me working up a sweat as I stomp my way through my neighborhood.

I. AM. PISSED.

Someone close to me was careless about a sensitive subject in a way that really upset me. And the worst part was that they didn’t seem to notice. It’s an old issue that’s rearing its ugly head yet again.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. My brain is working overtime now, trying to find the words to describe the reason why blood now boils in my veins. I survey the homes along the block as I pass by, taken in by the dimly lit porches and the buzzing insects that together create a calming, sleepy vibe. It’s a vibe I wish I could match, but I can’t, I’m too angry.

I want to go off. But I know that won’t help. It probably won’t make me feel any better either. The adult in me wants to handle this with care, carefully sussing out what has upset me, why, and what needs to happen next. But the child in me wants to fight, scream accusations with pointed fingers, and, when done, crumple to the ground in tears.

It’s the tell tale signs of what my trauma therapists call inner-child work. The child that lives within me, who was wronged all those years ago, is crying out for justice, and she has been all along. She’s been ignored for much too long and is now fed up… and flipping over tables. All the while, the adult in me is trying to apply healthy coping skills to an untended blistering wound. It’s a recipe for frustration and confusion, which, for me, creates anger.

Anger is work for me. It burns up a lot of energy that I’d rather spend doing almost anything else. It stirs up my imagination in ways that unnerve me. And I’ve found that even if I use that angry energy to push forward into some good thing, it only carries me so far before I flame out. Yet, I have to allow it to run its course.

Holding space for anger is a healthy thing. As difficult as all of this is, allowing myself to be angry and filtering out the noise to understand why, it’s progress. I’ve come a long way. I used to think that anger was an emotion that I should run from, in part, because it would be too hard to subdue the green hulking beast that would rear up in response. But also, once I started really walking with Jesus, I thought allowing myself to be angry would cause me to make him look bad.

A thinker first and foremost, I tend to grapple with the facts and perceptions first and deal with emotions last. By the time I’ve turned my attention to the emotions, they’ve usually been cooled down by the analysis, if I still even feel them at all. On the few rare occasions when that hasn’t happened, I’ve felt so out of control that I was afraid of how far I might go. It’s a serious shock to my normally cool, calm, and collected system, at least outwardly.

But when I first started working with a trauma therapist a few years ago, she helped me see that I don’t need to fear my anger. I learned that I could embrace it as an extremely useful signal. Because when it shows up, it’s a sign that someone has crossed a major boundary.

My issue was that I thought even feeling the emotion meant that I wasn’t honoring God. In my mind, I wasn’t supposed to get angry at all. But how in the world do you control that?

You don’t.

My reaction was to smother anger as soon as it started to rise up. So that’s what I did… for more than a decade… until I was challenged by that therapist.

For the first time, I actually thought about God’s anger. In the bible, both Jesus and the Father displayed a variety of emotions like joy, sadness, frustration, anger, and even, in the Father’s case, regret. They often used those emotions to communicate something important about who they were or the situation itself, like the crossing of a boundary.

At times, they definitely felt one way and behaved in another (just think of Jesus the night before he was crucified or all the times God held back from taking out ancient Israel). I realized that if I’m made in their image, then of course I’d have the same emotional palette AND the ability to decide how I wanted to respond.

From that moment on, anger was no longer a scary monster to be avoided, but a tool that God gave me on purpose for a purpose. I began to see anger as a signal and a call to action – an opportunity to make a choice. I didn’t have to run from anger or pretend I wasn’t feeling what I was feeling.

I could feel it completely and not be consumed by it. I could thoughtfully decide what the next action would be. And that action didn’t have to match how I felt. I could still think it through. Finally, dealing with anger didn’t have to be an all or nothing proposition. And it was freeing.

So yes, I am angry, but I’m also very much in control. Thank God.