Dear God,
For being all knowing, all powerful, and ever-present; I acknowledge you. For being Savior, Redeemer, and Almighty. But I'm confused and concerned...no bitter and angry. Now listen to me carefully, please listen, at least do me the favor of listening. Put up with me while I have my say—
I did what you said, what difference did it make? Those who take life into their own hands seem like the lucky ones. They break all the rules and get ahead anyway. They push you to the limit and get by with it. I'm on the edge of losing it— the pain in my gut keeps burning. I'm ready to tell my story of failure.
My enemies are alive and in action, like a lynch mob after my neck. I give out good and get back evil from God-haters who can't stand a God-lover. Liars are pouring out invective on me; Their lying tongues are like a pack of dogs out to get me, barking their hate, nipping my heels—and for no reason!
I loved them and now they slander me—yes, me!—and treat me like a criminal. They return my good with evil, they return my love with hate. I'm tired, yes tired. When I speak up, I feel no better; if I say nothing, that doesn't help either.
Somedays I feel worn down. People take one look at me and gasp. Contemptuous, they slap me around and gang up against me. And God you just stand there and let them do it, let wicked people do what they want with me. I feel like I was contentedly minding my business when God beat me up. He grabbed me by the neck and threw me around. He burst in on me, onslaught after onslaught, charging me like a mad bull.
What about evil men and women who get off scot-free, who never had to pay for their wickedness? When will anyone ever confront them with their crimes? Will they ever have to face the music? Why do the wicked have it so good, live to a ripe old age and get rich? They get to see their children succeed and they get to watch and enjoy their grandchildren.Their homes are peaceful and free from fear; they never experience God's disciplining rod. They have a long life on easy street.
They say to God, 'Get lost! We've no interest in you or your ways. Why should we have dealings with God Almighty? What's there in it for us? Still, how often does it happen that the wicked fail or disaster strikes, or they get their just deserts? How often are they blown away by bad luck?
Not very often.
I could say, 'God is saving up the punishment for their children.' But I say, 'Give it to them right now so they'll know what they've done!' They deserve to experience the effects of their evil, feel the full force of God's wrath firsthand. What do they care what happens to their families after they're safely tucked away in the grave?
I'm not letting up—I'm standing my ground. My complaint is legitimate. Save me
For being all knowing, all powerful, and ever-present; I acknowledge you. For being Savior, Redeemer, and Almighty. But I'm confused and concerned...no bitter and angry. Now listen to me carefully, please listen, at least do me the favor of listening. Put up with me while I have my say—
I did what you said, what difference did it make? Those who take life into their own hands seem like the lucky ones. They break all the rules and get ahead anyway. They push you to the limit and get by with it. I'm on the edge of losing it— the pain in my gut keeps burning. I'm ready to tell my story of failure.
My enemies are alive and in action, like a lynch mob after my neck. I give out good and get back evil from God-haters who can't stand a God-lover. Liars are pouring out invective on me; Their lying tongues are like a pack of dogs out to get me, barking their hate, nipping my heels—and for no reason!
I loved them and now they slander me—yes, me!—and treat me like a criminal. They return my good with evil, they return my love with hate. I'm tired, yes tired. When I speak up, I feel no better; if I say nothing, that doesn't help either.
Somedays I feel worn down. People take one look at me and gasp. Contemptuous, they slap me around and gang up against me. And God you just stand there and let them do it, let wicked people do what they want with me. I feel like I was contentedly minding my business when God beat me up. He grabbed me by the neck and threw me around. He burst in on me, onslaught after onslaught, charging me like a mad bull.
What about evil men and women who get off scot-free, who never had to pay for their wickedness? When will anyone ever confront them with their crimes? Will they ever have to face the music? Why do the wicked have it so good, live to a ripe old age and get rich? They get to see their children succeed and they get to watch and enjoy their grandchildren.Their homes are peaceful and free from fear; they never experience God's disciplining rod. They have a long life on easy street.
They say to God, 'Get lost! We've no interest in you or your ways. Why should we have dealings with God Almighty? What's there in it for us? Still, how often does it happen that the wicked fail or disaster strikes, or they get their just deserts? How often are they blown away by bad luck?
Not very often.
I could say, 'God is saving up the punishment for their children.' But I say, 'Give it to them right now so they'll know what they've done!' They deserve to experience the effects of their evil, feel the full force of God's wrath firsthand. What do they care what happens to their families after they're safely tucked away in the grave?
I'm not letting up—I'm standing my ground. My complaint is legitimate. Save me
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