rage

Of all the things on this journey that I didn’t expect, it has been the depth of sheer anger and rage I have at a man who has been dead nearly 20 years.  I am a natural redhead and have borne jokes through the years about my supposed anger.  The truth is that I’m really in pretty good control of my temper and it takes a lot to get me fired up.

Some of the things that fire me up are (listed in no particular order): racism, injustice, harm to a child, and not protecting someone who’s incapable of protecting themselves in the face of danger.

I was talking to Precious Friend in Texas yesterday on the phone and as we were kibbitzing and sharing what God is doing in our lives, she said something that triggered me to tell her of a conversation last week between my husband and me.

Me:  I know at some point I’ll have to forgive your grandfather…

H:  And my parents …

Me:  (reluctantly) …and your parents.  But if your grandfather was alive, I think I’d go up and spit in his face.

H:  But honey, you have to realize that all I went through made me in to the man you love today – the same one you married.

Me:  (speechless)

Theophostic facilitator:  Yes, this is really where Romans 8:28 comes in to play … God uses the awful things for His good…

By that time, I’d tuned out, because I truly didn’t expect my husband to say those things, but moreover, I didn’t expect the Theophostic facilitator to put a “nicey-nice” face on the horrors my husband experienced.  In fairness, she might not have done that, but it felt like it to me.  I have always recoiled at the application of Scripture that attempts to remove the horror from sin or from tragedy.  I find it much better for all involved to acknowledge the sin or tragedy and find hope in Scripture, instead of trying to put a good face on it.

Additionally, to say that my husband is who is he because of what he experienced… Please pardon me for a moment while I scream, “What the hell….!?”  God could have used any number of things to bring my husband to be the man he is today.  I will not accept lightly, easily, or joyfully the abuse that twisted his soul and gave him challenges, struggles and flippantly say, “Yes, but he wouldn’t be who he is today without those experiences.”  Those experiences tortured him in ways that we are just now beginning to understand and comprehend.  They haunted him for 40+ years and motivated his poor choices in relationships and sexual addiction.  They have been a seed of poison (although not fully comprehended or acknowledged) in our nearly 17 year relationship.  God could have used something else, although He chose not to.  But I will not simply say, “Que sera sera.” I find that contemptible and complete and utter bullshit.

So as I’m relating this to Precious Friend in Texas, she commiserates with me and acknowledges the absolute wrong that was done and how much it affected my husband and, by default, me for the better part of two decades.  She said beautiful things like, “Honey, if he was alive … I’d be going to a nursing home and giving someone a piece of my mind and kicking some old-man behind…” and, “Lovey, I am so for you.  I acknowledge your pain and anger and tell you that it’s okay you feel this way.  It’s appropriate for you to feel this way.  What happened to your husband was wrong.”  She didn’t try to tell me that I had to give it to God (although I know I do) – she let God be God.  She didn’t try to be Holy Spirit, Junior – she knows that He will move me out of this stage of anger, rage, and sorrow in His time.

She’s right about that, you know.

So as I’m driving to pick up my husband yesterday afternoon, I hear a song on the radio that talks about how things were wonderful when we were young, everything spread out before us in potential and possibility (paraphrase) and I’m struck with tears that sting my eyes so fiercely that I can hardly see the expressway before me.  My husband never had that chance.  He should have had an idyllic childhood, but he didn’t.  Someone stole that from him and victimized him for years.

And this is where the rage comes in.  No one seems to have truly grieved his loss.  I’m not even sure that he has grieved what he lost – what was stolen from him.  I am the one who is angry – and this anger doesn’t feel wrong, sinful, or anything else.  I think in part this anger that burns in me is what God feels and Scripture calls “righteous anger.”  It’s hard to classify, but since there is no conviction of sin in my heart with this anger, I have to believe that it’s okay to feel this.  It doesn’t come out at my husband, son, or anyone else in my life in inappropriate ways, and I don’t savour it – I don’t hold on to it.  It comes in waves and I swear to you, I see red.  I’ve never experienced anything like this before.  It’s almost as if I can taste the rage on my tongue in a metallic, bitter sensation on the tip.  My eyes well up and my jaw clenches – and none of this is of my own doing.  It’s all reflexive and I realize I’m crying before I feel the tears that are already running down my cheeks.

I will let this go, but I think this rage has to run its course.  I think there’s a purpose to it and when its purpose is served, I will be able to release it.  But right now, I find myself angry at the bitter irony that my husband was put in private school to “protect him” from the ravages of public school in a major metropolitan area in the 70s when the real danger was in his own family – and no one protected him from that.

It makes me weep and gnash my teeth, simultaneously.

His and his,
~Cori.

This entry was posted on 201828H May 2009 and is filed under Anger, Forgiveness, Path to Healing, sexual abuse, Sexual Brokenness, SSA. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

  • http://bethegroom.blogspot.com The Groom

    I have no idea, Cori. I really don’t. So may your anger be pure and may the Lord bring peace to you both in time.