I wrote this last Fall. If I remember correctly, I was struggling with the wrath of God. Of the tragic end of those who do not know Christ. I was angry with God for eternally punishing people who have already had enough pain in their lives. Angry with a God who I understood so little about. Hell has always been a hard doctrine for me. The wrath of God has been a fighting point in my life of faith. Its funny that right now I'm knee deep in my senior thesis on the necessity of the wrath of God.
How does this fit in my theme week, you ask? How is this about "bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse"? Well, when I can think of no new words to blog, no blessings amid persecution to reflect upon, I resort to releasing old drafts of posts written more as a journal than journalism. In my mind it links. You're welcome to disagree:
She sits in her window on the cold afternoons, talking to God or herself or whoever might hear her.
At first her voice is happy and quiet as she flips through the brittle pages of the Bible she's had since she was a teen.
She finds the right page and squints at the text written in a tiny font on fragile little sheets.
She reads through the Scripture, each word getting louder, each sentence getting angrier.
She reads the words loudly, hoping that the force of her words will change their meaning, asking — no, demanding— that God not mean what he says.
She reads the words over again, now so loudly and with such force that everyone can hear her and when she's said all she can say, she collapses into the window and her voice and body fades.
Her head falls back into the wall while tears trickle down her cheek, and with all the force she can muster, she mouths to God, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?"
And with that she closes her eyes and hopes against hope that she's gotten him all wrong.
No comments:
Post a Comment