BITTER BETTY
If I could simply have an attitude with God and ignore Him for the next few months, that would be ideal. To be honest, I don’t want to talk to Him or write about Him because I feel like He has completely mishandled me. But I know, as you all should, that emotions come and go. Suffering, grief, and the unrighteous anger that follows God doing something that makes absolutely zero sense—it all passes. It fades into the next moment. The sting of loss turns into a scar you remember, and hopefully, some meaning comes out of it.
As Christians, there’s this hope, or wish, that you’ll always respond the right way to God’s will, explaining everything away with “Things happen for a reason” and “It’s all part of God’s perfect plan.” Well, that is just not my attitude. So, what do I do when all the scriptures I’ve written on my wall and recited to others are the same ones taunting me? When the compassionate, loving Father I profess to everybody else feels like a deadbeat who forgot to pick me up for the 25th weekend in a row?
To be honest, if abandoning my faith made sense, I probably would. But I am too far in to do anything else. I know too much about Him and too much about what life looks like apart from Him. So, by His grace, I am stuck.
oUR attitude does not change or anule the truth of god’s word or his character.
Being part of the dead baby club was not on my bingo card this year. Neither was family drama, depression, loneliness, or suffering. Yet here I am— no baby, kind of depressed, with a sprinkle of suffering for a little razzle dazzle. So, again, what do I do? Telling myself, "He will never leave me or forsake me" sounds like a joke. Saying, "I have never seen the righteous forsaken or begging for bread" feels laughable. Reminding myself, "He is a good Father and gives good gifts to His children," makes me question what He considers good gift-giving.
Have you ever felt like God’s promises were out of reach, like they didn’t apply to you in your darkest moments? My question remains—what do I do when every scripture I used to rely on has become the same scriptures I use to accuse God? Well, let us consider God’s response to Job after he accused him of being unjust.
Job 38:2 “Who is this that darkens counsel [questioning my authority and wisdom] By words without knowledge?
It is me! A created being arrogantly confronting my Creator about what He is doing with my life. The life that I didn’t give myself, can’t wake myself up for, and literally have no idea what is happening in it.
Job 38:3-4 “Now [a]gird up your loins like a man, And I will ask you, and you instruct Me! Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”
If God asked us what He should be doing with our lives and what needs to happen in order for us to become who He created us to be, how could we answer?
We don’t even know what is going to happen moment to moment. We pray for God to cover us throughout the day because we don’t know anything.
Job 38:36 “Who has put wisdom in the innermost being [of man, or in the layers of clouds] Or given understanding to the mind [of man, or to the heavenly display]?
The wisdom and understanding we seek comes from the revelation God gives to us. We didn’t create wisdom or put it in ourselves.
Job 40:2 “Will the faultfinder contend with the Almighty?
Let him who disputes with God answer it.”
Biblical definitions of contend include: to conduct a case or suit, make a complaint against, or to doubt.
How can one rightfully build a case against someone without full knowledge of the entire situation? If you’re wrestling with similar questions, know that it’s okay to bring them to God. He can handle your doubts and your fears.
We don’t know why horrible things have to happen in the way they do.
We don’t have the foreknowledge to know how, who, or what is connected to our sufferings. We pray to be made like Christ, but reject anything that makes us like Him.
“OH, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of god! how unsearchable are his judgements and decisions and how unfathomable and untraceable are his ways” romans 11:33
When we feel wronged by someone, there’s often a sense of pride that accompanies that mindset. Thoughts like I wouldn’t have handled it that way or I would have never treated you like that echo in our minds, reinforcing our resolve, making us dig our heels deeper. Bouldering pride between myself and a perfect God seems right and just in the heat of the moment. But, after taking a step back it just reveals to me how different we are. In my freedom, I chose pride. In His freedom, he chose humility. In my freedom I chose to be an accuser. In His freedom, he chose infinite mercy. In my freedom, I chose me. In His freedom, He also chose me. And if you’re in a similar place, struggling between pride and surrender, remember that His choice to love you remains steadfast, no matter what.
In Philippians, we learn that instead of regarding His equality with God as something to cling to, He humbled Himself to the point of death. When we consider the freedom God has given us—to give or to hoard, to walk or to relent, to choose Him or to choose our flesh—we gain a deeper understanding of the burden Jesus carried. We have the option to die and choose humility just like He did.
“Just consider and meditate on Him who endured from sinners such bitter hostility against Himself [consider it all in comparison with your trials], so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” hebrews 12:2
In a conversation with my mother she kept saying, consider Jesus. Truthfully, I didn’t want to. I wanted to consider me because it felt like He wasn’t. I wanted to be mad and justified in giving Him the silent treatment. But, it’s hard to be in your flesh and the fullness of His spirit at the same time. They are contrary, and in these moments, we have an opportunity to become more like Christ or to remain the same. To choose pride or humility. To curse suffering or to consider Jesus.
As I navigate this season of wrestling with God, I’m reminded that faith isn’t about having all the answers or even feeling at peace with everything that happens. Faith—the substance of what we hope for and the evidence of what we can’t see—is about staying rooted in where and in whom we place our hope. And our hope isn’t in the answered prayer or healed body or blessing, but in Christ alone.
As you navigate your own struggles, I encourage you to take a moment to reflect: where is your hope rooted? How can you remain grounded in that hope, even when it feels distant?
