Saw this on pinterest. I can very much relate to this feeling. Nice perspective.
Some days are easier than others. Some days I wake up and life is filled with sunshine and my husband is wonderful and my heart is content.
And then comes the day when the teenager is pregnant, the baby is being raised by a grandmother, and the mother who doesn’t want to be bothered aborts.
Those are the days when I pound my fists into my pillow, when I cry out the unending question into the dark red walls of my bedroom, “Why, God? Why does she get babies? Why?”
It’s agony. This screaming monster inside that claws to control my thoughts, my voice, my actions.
Why does the one who misuses your gift, get it? Why does the one who would treasure it, not? What part of that makes sense in your all-knowing mind? I can’t resist pointing. I can’t resist speaking into the shadow that seems to be consuming my heart. “What about her, God?”
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