For what it's worth

Do you ever get so worked up you don't want to calm down? I think I blew off most of my steam Sunday. Still bummed about everything, but not in a remodel-the-house-by-puching-holes-in-the-wall sort of way. I was pretty down, though. I went to the store later to do grocery shopping, and even browsed the electronics aisles looking for something to pique my interest (movies, games, or hardware are like a "comfort food" for me), but couldn't even get excited by that selection.

Life goes on, despite my wishing I could stomp my feet and demand that it dance according to my tune. That doesn't mean that it stops hurting. It doesn't even mean that the hurting grows weaker. It does mean that all I have in my control is my response to it.

I talk big about wanting to walk away from the Church, but I think that is my own attempts to somehow try to get God to say "uncle." "I mean it, I'm really leaving! You pushed me too far this time. See? See?"

But in the end, it passes, and I apologize again for being the small man trying to be big. I'm hurt, confused, and feel impotent to alter the flood I am caught up in, with only frightening and uncertain destinations in sight. Maybe it would be easier if I could just trust. I try - really I do. But an ephemeral trust has a hard time going toe-to-toe with a very tangible string of deeply personal disappointments. Perhaps if I were a better man that would not be the case. But I'm not.