I woke up to that feeling. I felt unhinged before I even opened my eyes. I muttered prayers on the way to church: may it lift? may it lift? But it didn't. And I was in no shape to meet God part way and keep myself in check.The sermon rolled over me. Such a hauntingly sad message about the precious children of the church family and the damage that can be done through neglect and lack of love.
I became lost inside myself. Where's the love? Jesus urges, rebukes, commands that we kneel down and peer into each pair of bright eyes and LOOK. SEE. TOUCH. He gives us a picture of himself with children nestled into his arms, but do we put ourselves in his place? Such an act is borne out of some scrap of interest, let alone deep love. But who cares enough? Who sees past the naughtiness? Or the family name? Or the manners? Who looks past it all to see a child? Just a child.
Without being able to sift through the finer points of my anger, I knew angry was what I was. So angry that even a child, who hasn't learned guile or even true unkindness, remains beneath the love of some. What hope is there then for me to earn the love of those who haven't yet given it? I will never ever reach such an elevated state of sanctification that I can again attain the pure, inoffensive, beguiling lovability of a child. I can't fight for this love! I can't win it!
***
Now, on this side of yesterday, I can see that I woke up lost in ME. And stayed lost in ME. The anger has dissipated, and it's place is fresh resolve to love where it may never be returned.
