Righteous Anger

It’s after 11pm. My husband is asleep beside me. I should be asleep beside him. Instead, my face is lit up as are the keys before me and I’m surfing—a word that linguistically sounds too pleasant for how I’m feeling right now.

Yeah, that’s a screenshot just to prove to you that that is in fact what I’m doing in case you doubted me.

I’m angry. And, I’m using this silly device in front of me that is like a Mary Poppins bag of information for some sort of…consolation? justification? Honestly, I don’t know what exactly I’m seeking.

After what had already been a long day, I hit refresh on my phone as I’m prone to do too often. Between all the random Groupon emails was an email address I recognized. Dear Kelly was the subject line. Thinking it was going to be good news that would lead me to take a deep breath of God’s goodness, I opened it right away and then pushed the home button and put my phone down before I could finish reading as if making it disappear before my eyes would make it disappear.

I’ve been wanting to write you regarding our adoption plan, but it has been a couple of sad and busy weeks…

On April 14th, we exhausted all of our options…

They can’t move forward. The family who had said yes to XY, the girl I called Little Miss Pink, while we were still there at her orphanage, the family who wanted her and was ready to tackle whatever struggles they were adopting as they adopted her, they are no longer making her their daughter. It’s done. The word MATCHED beside her name that marked her as taken and spoken for has been exchanged for AVAILABLE. She’s once again a waiting child.

They can’t move forward. They didn’t change their mind. They didn’t realize they were in over their heads. They didn’t realize they were comfortable where they are and didn’t want to upset the cart. They didn’t realize the money simply wasn’t there to do it. They were told they could not do it due to bureaucracy due to rules put in place to protect children and protect families that occasionally do quite the opposite…like right about now.

And, I’m angry.

So, I guess I am seeking something. I’m seeking permission to be angry right now. Angry that this world is a broken place where families are not whole. Angry that the orphanage where part of my heart remains is considered small with 300 orphans living in groups inside their walls. Angry that of those 300, many will grow up with no families beyond the many nannies they call Mama, Mama, Mama, a constant reminder of brokenness as you hear them calling out indiscriminately to their caregivers. I’m angry that some children there will never be made available for adoption. And, I’m angry that rules that were set up to support ethics in adoption and protect children all over the world is right now, at least for this one, preventing her adoption. Yeah, I know the rules are good; I’m not really interested in getting into that because right now I can’t see past the fact that that one little girl matters and she no longer has a family thanks to rules.

I found the permission I was seeking. 

Is my anger triggered by brokenness, something that isn’t how it should be? yes.
Does my anger focus on God’s concerns rather than myself and something I want or I feel entitled to? yes.
Is my anger expressed with self-control rather than chaos that moves towards good and specific ends? I hope so.

I’m going back in October. I’m not going because I’m angry. I’m not going because I’m exhibiting self-control despite strong emotions and moving towards a good and specific end. It’s a lot bigger than all that. I’m going because He called me to go again, and He’s calling others to go with me either on the team or the team of senders. I’m not going because of anger; I’m going because of love. But, that anger—as hard as it is, as uncomfortable as this lump in my throat is right now, as tired as I am after a long day that grew longer—I find myself not wishing it away. I don’t want to hit the home button and make the feeling disappear. I want it there, right there, balanced with joy and praise and hope and expectation, expectation that our God is not a passive God but one who defends and raises up and intervenes in our brokenness. Yes, I want to take that anger with me, anger surrounded on every side by love. I want to be brought into His work there with 300 children and with just this one.

Here I am, Lord. I’m nothing but a woman who gets frustrated when my kids are running late and get irritated when my husband forgets to tell me we’re out of dish detergent. I think I’m better than I know I am, and sometimes I just think I’m better. I’m distracted and selfish and often find my self-worth in what I’m doing or what I’ve done. Yeah, that’s me. Just as broken as this world I’m living in. But, but,…for you….the One whole thing in this place, the One who can piece me together with an expert hand without lumps of glue where the cracks used to be. Here I am, Lord, feeling emotionally naked before you and before the screen 2 feet in front of me. Nonetheless, Lord, here I am with righteous anger. Send me.