feeling – noun \ˈfē-liŋ\
: an awareness by your body of something in it or on it
: an emotional state or reaction
: susceptibility to impression
I haven’t been feeling very Christian.
It’s not even my battle, but I’ve been caught in the crossfire.
Now that it’s finally over, I want to write a letter. I want to express my anger and my disappointment and hurt.
I want to remind a certain someone of all they’ve been given–and all they’ve taken away.
Of lives and hearts laid down, of sacrifices still being made.
I want to squeeze a certain someone’s cheeks into a fish face and shout, “Don’t you see? Don’t you see what you’ve done? What you’re still doing? You had everything. And you threw it all away. It never had to come to this.”
I’ve been tossing tangible reminders in the trash.
I’ve had to remind myself that people in pain do painful things, that this sphere is stained, and that maturity often comes through mistakes.
I need to stop seething long enough to hear God’s wild whispers of quiet wisdom.
Just. Be. Still.
I’m. Still. God.
It’s okay to be mad as a dog. Just don’t bite back.
I weave pain into purpose.
I know what it’s like to be wounded.
I carry reminders of your feelings in my crucified hands.
Philip Yancey told a story In Where is God When it Hurts about some words Dr. Paul Brand spoke to leprosy patients in India–people who often suffer physical deformities because they’ve lost feeling due to damaged nerves.
One of the things I find most astounding is that, though we think of the future life as something perfected, when Christ appeared to His disciples He said, “Come look at my hands,” and he invited Thomas to put his finger into the print of the nail. Why did He want to keep the wounds of His humanity? Wasn’t it because He wanted to carry back with Him an eternal reminder of the sufferings of those on earth? He carried the marks of the suffering so He could continue to understand the needs of those suffering. He wanted to be forever one with us.
Yancey goes on to say:
The surgery of life hurts. It helps me, though, to know that the Surgeon Himself, the Wounded Surgeon, has felt every stab of pain and every sorrow.
I feel it, God says, I feel you.
But fix your eyes on the future where hope rises on the horizon.
And immerse yourself in the present.
I’m glad the Christian faith does not depend on feelings.
But I’m leaning on the base of that faith who does feel it, who feels me.
And I won’t write that letter.
Do you ever feel your feelings affect your faith?
Word Count: 439
In the stillness,
With Charity and Holley