The first and most important guideline to blogging any writing is unadulterated authenticity. This is not to say that everything must be written as an autobiography or documentary, in fact it has little to do with the façade of the story at all; rather it’s the honesty behind it – the inherent integrity. Jesus spoke through parables; lessons taught through story. The woman rejoicing over her lost coin may never have existed, but that didn’t make His words any less true, and that’s what it’s about in the end; the truth.
The fact of the matter is that people don’t respond well to those who place themselves on their high horses and shout out their opinion as fact from their places of self-supposed superiority. No one needs to be lectured by strangers, and in reality we know that we’re not fooling anyone anyway; everybody knows that nobody’s got it all together all of the time. Acting like we do (deservedly) invites mockery and breeds skepticism.
Rather, any good blogger will tell you that if you want to reach your readers’ hearts you must first offer your own; scars and all. For the sake of wanting to know you and wanting you to trust that I have no intentions of preaching at you, I hold myself to this standard of authenticity and vulnerability…
I struggle with anger.
Ugly, vehement, dark anger.
It’s tricky, this temper of mine, because for the vast majority of the time it lays dormant. I can go months without it rising up in me, but so far I haven’t been able to rid myself of this unwanted heart-tenant permanently.
When it catches the scent of the sustenance that it’s been denied for so long – angry thoughts that I allow myself to entertain, hurts that I nurse inwardly, grudges that I refuse to release – it wastes no time in attacking. It pounces and sticks its sharp destructive claws into my soul, and everything follows en suite.
I have been damaged by betrayal, my heart has been shattered by people I loved with all of it, I have been wronged. There are scarce few incidents in my life that can release such a powerful and horrifying monster as this consuming anger, but one is one too many.
In these moments when I choose to allow self-defense instead of selflessness, ferocity instead of forgiveness, callousness instead of compassion, hatred instead of humility, jealousy instead of Jesus – it’s as though I’m slowly drinking poison from my own hands. But worse than the damage it does to my own soul, is that it leeches out in the form of impatience, frustration, and hostility towards my family. It detracts from the relationships I have with my children, my husband, and from my fellowship with the God of mercy and forgiveness…