I’m Angry With You God!


I’m reading in Leviticus right now and finding that I’m responding emotionally to the Law.  So many things made you “unclean.”  And if anyone touched you or your clothes or your bed or the pot in your hand, they became unclean too.  Rules that made everyone treat disease as if it was the sick person’s fault, dictums that made everyone treat each other with distrust and distance.

So why did You do it God?  Why make rules that could only lead to hatred of each other, hatred of self, hatred of life?  Why enforce a weight that no one could bear?

The Priest could touch goat’s blood to purify the altar.  But if a man touches the seat that a woman has been sitting on during her period, he is unclean.  It just seems crazy.  We’re left with either isolating ourselves from humanity, being unclean or lying about it.  We become unloving, unworthy or a hypocrite.

And, though it seems unrelated, why did You let Jesus be flogged before He was crucified?  Why did He have to wear a crown of thorns?  Wasn’t it enough that He died for us?  Did He have to bear so much pain before being nailed to the cross and bearing the excruciating weight of our sins, my sins?

Holiness.  The righteous demands of a Holy, Loving Father.  The Law that can only lead to failed attempts at self-righteousness or abdication of our place at His side.

On Valentine’s Day, in the year 2014, I live because Your holiness was so exacting that I had no other choice than to accept the blood of Jesus, not just dripped out of the sealed wounds on His hands and feet, but gushing out of His head, His back, His shoulders, His side.  I weep because You took this for me, my Jesus.  And I live because God’s holiness is answered.

Thank You, God!


Fields of Gold

What happens in a marriage of two people who can’t live apart but then find they can’t live together?

When I met my wife, she took my breath away.  I couldn’t believe she answered the first letter I wrote to her, picked up the phone the first time I called.  I was shocked when she said she loved me.  When we kiss, my heart still skips a beat.

I’m writing this now but still neglect to let her know.

We almost didn’t make.  We almost ended it.  I walked away to live alone, to have my own way.  I spoke so many words of hate and anger.  I broke her trust and blamed her for every failure.

Do you know why I love my Jesus?


Satan would tell you that you write your own life.  We would close the book with pages still blank, with pictures unpainted, with songs unsung because it all gets so hard.

But not God, not my King.

He writes the harmonies.  He composes the lyrics and melody, with minor chords, sevenths that don’t make sense, dissonance and resolution.  He colors the canvas with grays of shadow and yellows of sunshine, blending colors, striking lines where definition and boundary are needed.

He writes my story.  And He will bring me, has brought me to healing and hope.

He brought me home.  He heals the wounds.

He gives me fields of gold.

Thank you, my love, for walking them with me.