Jesus loves me. I can sing the Sunday School song to prove it.
How, then, do I comprehend his love when it feels more like hate?
The blow is vicious and blinding. I try to focus, but it’s a difficult task when suddenly I’m drowning.
Every Christian cliché makes me want to punch a panda bear in the face.
Pray about it.
Give it to Jesus.
Have faith.
He will see you through.
Where’s a panda bear when I need one? The pain is real. The wounds are extensive. Hiding them isn’t possible anymore, so I rip off every Christian band-aid and bleed.
I force myself to remain present. I acknowledge my fear, doubt, anger, and hopelessness. I feel every stinging emotion running through my veins. I grieve. Deeply.
Then through the roar of my pain I hear a small voice, “My dove, I love you too much to leave you to yourself”.
Somehow, I believe him and I hurt just a little less.
