I don’t understand why my capacity for anger remains so present, or why pain seems to be such a ready feeling in life. I really think some people feel pain more than others, and it has nothing to do with their tolerance for it. Things can change and wounds can heal, but “why do I hurt, Lord? why do I hurt?” It can feel at times like my heart is on fire.

Like so many other things, I really and truly need God’s help to be happy. And not even his help, I need his uttermost being. Like I truly cannot be happy without him. I have the Holy Spirit, and with that heaven’s joy. But who here would know this? Certainly not the ones who see my face everyday. Certainly not the ones who’ve hurt me just as much.

Oh what is the use? I fight for their affections and defend my own value, and all the long while God gives to me both. Could God really mean for all flesh to die? All of it? The living and breathing would kill me first. There’s too much there to transform in a life. And God takes his time. He who would not spare his own Son, now of me leaves no trace.