For the past several weeks, I have noticed something gnawing at me. I brushed it off as a temporary glitch until I realized it was not so temporary. Everywhere I went, I was holding a mixed bag of emotions that were fighting against one another.
I would wake up and take the bag of emotions with me, doing my best to keep a calm countenance, but something in the bag would unexpectantly jolt me. I noticed I was distancing myself from others so they would not recognize my thinned patience; trying to hold my thoughts captive became a full-time job. At the end of each day, I would tuck the bag beside me and struggle through a restless night as grievances and grief would poke at me till morning.
There seemed to be an internal revolt against my usual, intact and collected demeanor. My emotions become a punching bag waiting for me to respond. It was as if they were baiting me to lose my cool or throw in the towel. Being competitive, I laced up my gloves and gave the bag a hard stare. What I felt was a mounting surge of anger. I was even angry that I was angry as I pride myself on being in control of my temperament. Oh, what pride to does to oneself.
Fueled with fury, I got in position to fight the world, but more so myself. Before I could rear back to rev up my first punch, I was hit head-on by what stared back at me: loss, fear, disappointment, frustration, restlessness, sadness, and anxiety. I was knocked down and almost knocked out.
Trying to collect myself, I sat still as I looked down at my hands fitted in boxing gloves. Sweat mixed with hot tears fell upon the gloves. I knew underneath all the padding that my hands were still fisted. I was ready to fight. And for some reason, this little bit of knowledge gave me hope. There was still fight in me — fighting against what I knew was not meant for me — what should be ousted from me.
I looked around and noticed a small towel that was not there before, or maybe it was but I had just now given it notice. The towel was wrapped in a tight bow with a note attached. I unlaced my gloves and set them aside so I could bring the gift closer to me. It was not until I held the gift in my hands that I knew it was not a gift at all. The thing about Satan is he wants you to throw in the towel. If he knows you won’t give up, he will try to “gift” things and solutions to motivate and manipulate you to make your life “easier.”
I read the tag: Wipe your face and get back up. GET BACK UP AND FIGHT! You have a right to be angry. You have a right to fight, punch, scream, and attack.
I would be lying if I didn’t confess that a small part of me wanted to get up and fight anything and anyone who came near me. But upon closer inspection of the towel, I noticed it was dirty and smelled sour: FILTHY. I knew that if I wiped my face with this towel, everything in my view would appear hostile and taste bitter.
I can wash my mind in the Word of God every day, but if I pick up Satan’s lies to dry myself off, I remain in an active battle against myself. How utterly exhausting. What better way for Satan to derail me from seeing God’s blessings than to keep me distracted and bruised from beating myself up.
I put the towel beside the gloves and opened my palms. Fingernail marks pressed into my skin do not go unnoticed. I have been trying to bury my emotions within these fists for some time. I have been trying to hush my pain because the root cause of it is out of my control, and this truth alone makes me feel more vulnerable than I want to admit.
Ever notice when what is out of our control upsets us that it can fester into a controlling, consuming thought? We ruminate on the “what-if,” the “how come,” and “could I have….” These thoughts can ignite anger and sway us to believe in our “rights” over what is truly the right course of action.
I have another stare at the bag of emotions before me, but this time I soften my gaze. As I look more gently at what is in the bag, each emotion appears before me like a small child. Some have red eyes from crying; others have red eyes from screaming. Instead of fighting, I listen. I hear what they have been waiting to tell me, and I even hear what they say in silence. I weep with them. Rather than putting them back into the bag, I sit with them for a time, each different in length depending upon the circumstance. I eventually hug each emotion, and as I hold them, they go back inside of me rather than into the bag. My emotions are no longer fighting for my attention or against one another. They are released into God’s care of me, and I accept them as a part of me: some healed and some still healing.
As much as I do not like the feeling of anger, I am thankful for its appearance in my life over the last several weeks. I am thankful because anger disclosed to me that I was battling, Satan showed me that he wanted me to be in a perpetual fight, and Jesus reminded me that no amount of fighting against myself or others would free me from the battle. I can remain fisted in fury or surrendered in faith. The choice is mine. The battle is God’s.
“This is what the LORD says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s’” (2 Chronicles 20:15).
I gather the towel and gloves as I stand, tossing them into the trash on my way out the door. Today I will focus on where Christ leads and love those He puts upon my path to love, releasing all else and others to Him.
“Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today…. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still’” (Exodus 14:13-14).
Tiffany Kaye Chartier
SGLY, dear reader.
(Smile, God Loves You.)
Tiffany Kaye Chartier, Author 