I crossed the line. I let my feelings talk and “spoke thus” to God’s children. I spoke out of hurt, self-pity and doubt.
Not to overstate, but it was an act of betrayal.
In that moment I was less like Asaph and more like Benedict Arnold.
I was a wounded traitor.
Where has God been as this reruptured tendon keeps creeping up my calf?
Dare I ask, where?
“For if there had been bread,” C.S. Lewis quipped, “there would be no toast.”
In the days following my Achilles tenton rerupture, I’ve been grappling with happy memories.
Yes, happy ones that make me sad.
Whether it’s a healthier time in your life or when our kids were little or a relationship was more rewarding, we must reckon with nostalgia.
What do you do with it?
Here’s what I did this week.
“Christians have a hope that can be ‘rubbed into’ our sorrow and anger the way salt is rubbed into meat,” Tim Keller writes. “Neither stifling grief nor giving way to despair is right. Neither repressed anger nor unchecked rage is good for your soul.”
I agree. And I add one thing: look for God’s love. It’s all around.