Itchin' for a Fight

Yesterday morning I was mad. Really mad.

I wanted to take someone apart - not physically but verbally. I just wanted to verbally dismantle someone - someone who had done something bad. No one in particular.

I just wanted to find someone who had done something bad and really let them have it - zero in on their vulnerability and squeeze the rhetorical trigger. Nail them in such a way that the words ring in their ears for the rest of their life forcing them to forever question their own morality and self-worth.

I wanted to be the great deliverer of justice.

And I felt ashamed that I longed to be so cruel.

When I used to run church youth camps there would oftentimes be an altar-call.

The speaker would deliver an inspirational message - God would move in the hearts of the campers and the teens would come down to the altar in front to kneel, pray, get "right" with God, make decisions and commitments etc. Often all of this was accompanied by tears. Sometimes LOTS of tears.

Seeing their campers seemingly so "distraught", counselors would rush forward to console and pray with their teens.

I used to try and prepare camp counselors for these occurrences. My theory, such as it was, was that with all the physical, hormonal, social, mental and emotional changes that teens go through, they pretty much want to cry everyday.

The trouble is, they never really get the opportunity.

Then you take them to a mountain camp for a week with friends where they share and they feel safe and are willing to be a little more vulnerable. When an inspirational speaker gets up and God moves in the heart of a teen, the camper may well be moved to tears. Once they get started though, some kids just decide to "let it all hang out".

"They aren't necessarily crying because they are distraught", I would tell my counselors, "They might just be crying because they are teenagers".

"So why are you so angry this morning?", I asked myself. "And what's with all this 'deliverer of justice' stuff?"

And then it occurred to me: I think I am really angry about this situation with Annabelle and I want someone to pay.

Having done some counseling, I am familiar with the various stages of grief: denial, anger, despair etc. and it seems like I have been cycling through them in no particular order every few minutes or so. But anger was a new one.

And I am most definitely angry . . .

Just like a teenager at youth camp, I am looking for a reason and opportunity to express it.

Maybe I should go for a run . . .