It hurts me to see someone I love living with so much anger. I can only feel I haven't done enough to fulfill her life or affirm her. I can't help but wonder if she'd be happier or more secure or more content with someone else. I can't help but think the anger arises from unmet need.
When we are suffering in our souls we become a magnet for criticism and contentiousness. Conflict and trouble find us readily, drawn to us like charged particles. Awful scenes erupt. We pick at troubles like peeling skin from a sunburn. Although we know it would be better to rub salve on them we can't resist fussing with the itch of discontent. We are prickly and irritable, can't get comfortable in our own skin. Cruel and smug adversaries invariably find us, and attack like vultures or parasites.
It's painful to watch someone you love suffer from wounds of the heart and soul, wounds you caused or deepened, wounds that haven't healed and seemingly won't. Words, reason, and discussion are no match for a deep pain of the spirit, a neglect felt in a gnawing and unreachable place.
More than anything you want your beloved to be free to play and live with confidence and assurance. More than anything you want their welcoming smile, their acceptance and devotion to your mutual adventure. When they are lost in discontentment, you feel the ache of their absence like a wound of your own. I miss her most when she's just out of reach, lost in a rage I have no words to comfort or soothe. I try, but she has too much bitter energy to vent, too much sorrow welling out of the injured child within her. Her brokenness is my burden. Her spiritual hunger is my debt to a sorrowful God.
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