Dear Heavenly Father,
Good morning. This is a letter of complaint that I am not proud of. I assumed that by now I would be content and at peace with Your will for me, but I am not. It is not so much my refusal to accept your will as the constant conflict between knowing that there is more to my life and the stark unremarkability of my person. I honestly hate the growing pains and tensions that I feel at practically every stage of life. It is not about being a great person with notoriety and glory. Even if I were hidden in total obscurity, I desire to do meaningful work and express the creativity You have blessed me with. But you have robbed me of this.
I hate your roundabout way of doing things. Making the Israelites travel a winding journey because it would reshape their identity, yeah, right! On my good days, which are not many, I can accept the story of the children of ancient Israel and see myself in it. But on my frequent bad days, it makes absolutely no sense. I hate that I get to wait on the bench when so many people play on the pitch. They are making big claims about changing the world and doing something meaningful, but I can make no such claims at the age of thirty. Even Your Son, Jesus, got to doing what He was sent to do at my age. It was tough work, but He had at least the satisfaction of doing what He was called to do.
Conversely, I am expected to be satisfied with getting by. I hate that some others get to live out the things I earnestly pray for and humble-brag, whereas I am left with uncertainty as my companion. It is not for my lack of effort that I am where I am. It is solely because You have thwarted even my best efforts for reasons best known to You. I hate doing a job I have to tolerate because it certainly pays the bills, but leaves me quite hungry for something more.
Everything is a bloody struggle. I hate the toil it takes to reach every milestone, and I hate it more because some others seem to waltz into every expected stage of their journey without breaking a sweat. I know that it is pointless to compare, but a life of relative ease would be appreciated from time to time. I have heard preachers say one’s desires are a gift from God. They admonish one to bring their desires to Your feet. I have been doing that for years. Certainly not as long as Father Abraham when he wanted a child, but long enough to be utterly tired and frustrated. My dreams and desires seem like rubbish to you. I am drowning in deferred hopes and dreams. Do you know how painful that is? I hate the ache so much.
It is almost as if you do not know that time is of the essence. Pretty frustrating as you are the author of time. I apologise, I am not going to be an understanding daughter today because that is just dishonest. In fact, I’m tired of understanding or trying to understand Your ways. I’m tired of hoping and believing that all things work out for good to those who love You and are called according to Your purpose; that is a consolation prize for ‘late bloomers’. I know that I am permitted to be angry and not sin; to ponder in my heart on my bed and be silent, but I cannot do this without feeling like I am combusting.
When I think I could be patient a little longer, I am confronted with questions from people who mean well, but for answers I do not have. Like Job, I am demanding answers. You are the author of my life, the sovereign Lord of the world, so why wouldn’t You act? Why, like creation, do I have to groan in pain and misery? Why wouldn’t you end it all and fast forward to humans singing praises in Heaven? I can almost hear You say that You are letting these happen in Your mercy, but that does not comfort me right now.
I know some people have it far worse than I do and would give anything to have the life I have now, but this is not the suffering Olympics. I believe everyone suffers in their own way, and each suffering is valid and deserving of its own expression. I earnestly hope I am not being flippant. On days like this, when I feel so miserable, I wish you could magically make everything right with the movement of a wand. I hate this tension. I hate the discomfort. I hate the feeling of a welling heart but no means to make something of it. I hate the big walls that surround me. I hate that I’m not the most patient and content person right now. And I hate that I sound like a sourpuss.
Please, Lord, for the umpteenth time, help me to trust You. It is becoming harder by the minute. It is funny how I can see what you are doing in the world and in the lives of so many people, but lack such a perspective in my own life. Help me to trust You because I lack the capacity to. My heart cannot take it. I may not get to do justice, but at least I can love mercy and walk humbly with You. So please help me to do what You require of me, even if in part. Amen.
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