When I Come Home Angry

Around these parts, I do my best to remain positive. I want share what is uplifting and inspiring, not what is cynical and pessimistic.

But, if I'm honest, sometimes I come home angry. I rationalize that it is righteous anger, but it's all the same really.

I'm angry at those parents. The Mommas that give birth to drug addicted babies. The Daddies that hit and shame. The Stepdaddies that molest and abuse.  The addicted, apathetic, abusive, thoughtless, and manipulative.

They take no responsibility and they show no remorse. I hear their lies and their excuses. But even louder, I hear what they don't seem to. I hear their babies' cries. I hear a childhood lost.

I fight to glimpse God amidst the mess. I don't see Him though, and I question if he remembers these precious little ones.

This anger drives me forward. It spurs me on to seek justice. But it can't go further than that. It can't turn to bitterness.

I must forgive. Somehow.