If God had a face, I’d have punched it.
That’s how angry I was.
My anger wasn’t a red hot, raging anger, but a smoldering slow burn, built up over time, corroding my heart and soul, straining our relationship.
I’d lost my mum and then my sister to cancer.
Now it was my turn.
He had to be kidding me?
The injustice. The grief. The unknown future. My kids, what about my sweet children?
Was He deaf and blind to all I’d been through and the damage heading my way.
I was mad. Deep, dark, smoldering mad. Wouldn’t you be?