Friday, May 13, 2011

A Psalm of Diana

Sometimes my circumstances make me angry. I see something, hear something, and this rage rises up.

I question desires that I thought were from You.

Why bother with unused gifts?

What is the point of talents if they are never used?

Maybe they aren't even real.

Maybe what I thought once was,

Or what might be,

Was all just in my own mind,

Figments of my imagination.

So I pray.

I ask You to take away the wants and desires,

but they remain.

I hold them in my heart

and they curdle

and spoil inside me.

I'm judged. I know it.

Some who judge me claim to be my friend to my face,

but their true feelings seep out.

"I love you," they say,

but it isn't true.

Others point from the distances.

The distance of time,

or false friendship.

I get angry at the people who You use as boundaries in my life,

but the Truth is,

You are the one who gives them the power of those positions.

And it makes me angry at You.

I watch others climb, even soar,

often attached to the back end ahead of them,

and it pisses me off.

But over that as well, You are sovereign.

And it makes me mad at You.

It makes me want to shake my fist toward the heavens

to demand an answer.

I want to kick and scream at the returning silence.

You don't answer me.

Days, weeks, months go by,

it comes to the place of counting the years,

and it makes me want to scream!

False accusations.

Unjust judgments passed.

Labels tattooed in permanent ink.

I long for validation, but it never comes.

And in my hurt and impatience

I struggle not to become the one

that they say I am.

Unfulfilled dreams weigh heavy on my soul.

Unacknowledged hurts don't heal,

and the wounds fester.

Judgments carried sap me of all strength.

I try to carry them to the cross...

again...

and again...

and again.

"Faithful, faithful, faithful - fruit" they say.

And I stand in a desert.

Maybe I'm not faithful at all.

I see no fruit.

Not even a bud.

But who am I to rage at You?

I am but dust.

I just don't want to want anymore.

Aspiration and dreams suffocate me.

Take them away.

Or take me away.

Please.

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