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two daughters.

July 2, 2013

Today, as I was rolling through my twitter feed, I noticed one of those habitual “quoters”.  You know the ones who almost never, if ever, contribute any original thoughts.  They just repost great things that other people have written, and then we are supposed to think they are somehow prolific for having read and regurgitated it…  Those types of people are boring.

And now excuse me while I regurgitate their regurgitated prolificness.

“Hope has two daughters: Anger and Courage.
 Anger at how things are and
Courage to see that they don’t remain as they are”

– Augustine

That’s pretty much where I’m living right now.  Only I’ve just been calling it anger with associated symptoms such as: unrest, discontentment, confusion, confrontation, anxiety and the beat goes on.

Anger is such a huge beast.  Because anger cannot…CANNOT… stay hidden inside of oneself.  It exists in every exchange.  In every facial expression.  Completely devoid of healthy direction, anger will guide almost every thing you do.  And anger is destructive.

Recently I picked up a new book and while discussing a topic similar to this, the author said that when we feel attacked, our first defense is almost always with our words.  Words that hurt.  Tearing down the things we most love.  The bible speaks of this frequently.

I’m not a licensed counselor but I think I have a keyhole peep into the root of my affliction with this.  People, but specifically, I –  need to be heard.  But more to the point…I need to be understood.

Proverbs 29:11 says “A fool gives vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back”.

My spirit bubbles.  My tongue spits words out quickly and with fervor.  I hold back very little when I know it’s safe to feel and express feeling.  And yet… I feel completely misrepresented, misunderstood… just missed.  The more I try to say it, and the less I’m heard, the greater the anger boils.

Sometimes I look to the heavens and ask God why He gave me a husband that physically can’t hear me.  I will spend the rest of my life repeating myself in multiples of 10’s just to have one feeling heard.  One instruction remembered.  One hurt understood.  The man just can’t hear me.  Not with his ears.  Not with his heart.  Not yet.  Maybe time will repair that.  Maybe doctors will.  But today…  I exist in a vacuum in my home.  Thankfully because of God ordained vows, I can feel safe while still misunderstood, knowing eternity awaits with something better for us.

And all that to say…

I’m in a search, spiritually.  I’m looking for that beautiful middle ground where I know God, and I’m satisfied in him.  And I feel known in my home.  In my work.  Amongst friends.  To feel heard.  To let go of the anger associated with only being needed as a function… and finally known as a person worth knowing.

Hope does have two daughters.  I’ve clutched too tightly to one.  I’m groping around in the dark for the other.

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