Thank you for your prayers this past weekend as our family faced Irene. I did not handle it as well as I wanted to, even with my axe. I was so tired, even before the hurricane. Isn’t that the way it always is? Storms never happen when I’m uber-prepared, feeling well-rested and motivated. They wait until I am at the edge of fatigue-induced-lunacy.

Now that we are home, our power on, my forehead is pounding so hard that my eyes feel like they are wobbling in their sockets. I’m relieved, and overwhelmed, and angry, and bone-tired.

Wait…why is angry in that list?

It’s not that I am angry at anyone. I am angry about the situation—about being alone, thousands of miles from my family and husband, in the path of a hurricane, in close quarters with kids who are just as stressed as I am, about one of those kids getting sick just as the power went out, about a night spent sweating in a hotel I never wanted to stay at where I know I am going to have to carry my 70 pound dog down the stairs because she’s too old to traverse steps anymore and of course we are on the second floor with the power and elevator out. And I still have to face traffic to get home through multiple tunnels that I PRAY will be open and moving, because I CANNOT sit in traffic in a tunnel at the bottom of the bay and remain calm. (See how stressful run-on sentences can be?) *deep breathing now*

I know there is not a rational reason to be angry. This is life, and a hurricane is minor compared to what many are facing today. I know this. Most times I can keep my wits about me and a sense of humor and carry on. Sometimes, though, the anger wins.  What do you do with anger like this? There is no one to reconcile with, no situation to rectify, no injustice suffered. I’ve learned that this kind of small, daily grind anger can destroy me though if I don’t deal with it.

I used to rehearse it in my head over and over, a smile plastered on my face, until it would leak out onto the nearest person who might slightly offend me. I assumed that one day the anger would dissolve, and I would forget it was ever there. But that’s a lie and I’m facing it more and hiding from it less.

People say “give it to God” and I know this is the right answer, but it’s really too vague. I haven’t stopped praying since I saw the multicolored bands stretched out across the Atlantic through the center of my house, but I am still angry. If I could shove all that anger into a large priority mail box with God’s address and be done with it, I would have done that ages ago.

For me, “give it to God” means unclenching my fists and my jaw long enough to breathe and voice the situation that has made me angry—whether it is a bad situation, an illness, an unexpected death. I don’t always have to tell someone, but doing it aloud or in writing helps me see it better. I acknowledge it. It happened. It is there. God sees it– He sees me. Then, I STOP rehearsing it. I quit hitting resentment replay in my mind. I have to change the way I remember it. I know this is the way to freedom for me, but I still forget to do it. 

I found myself on the drive back Sunday morning replaying my whine track about how this is unfair, I should have stayed home, I can’t believe Jet got sick, on and on. Then, the traffic came to a standstill as we waited for a tree-cutting crew to saw through a grove of trees that had been twisted and wrestled down by Irene and then pushed off the road. The storm was real. The threat was real, and we were safe. I watched the crew work, thankful for their time and energy. Too bad I forgot my axe—maybe I could have helped! I thought, and then I smiled in spite of myself.

Suddenly, thankfulness swallowed my anger. I realized that I was rehearsing my anger instead of remembering the great mercy. The kids still argued in the back seat, but I was thankful for their voices. I was tired of driving, but thankful for a working vehicle and gas. Several times on Sunday, the anger or resentment bubbled up, but instead of letting it stretch into sentences and paragraphs that held me hostage, I stopped the words in my mind and replaced them with thanks; I replaced them with truth.

Philippians 4:8 Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things.

Are you in a storm, made more difficult by circumstances or people you can’t control? What truths do you rehearse?