Скачать или смотреть Angry, Hurt, Torn by Barry L. Wingard ph.D

God, I’m Angry. I’m Hurt. I’m Torn.

By Barry L. Wingard, Ph.D.

God, I’m angry. I’m hurt and I’m torn. I don’t even want to pretend that everything is fine, because it isn’t. My spirit feels raw, scraped against the jagged edges of disappointment and loss. My prayers don’t float upward like gentle incense—they feel more like stones hurled toward heaven, heavy and sharp. And yet here I am, speaking to You anyway. Because even when I’m angry, even when I’m wounded, I can’t turn my face away. You are still God. And somehow, I believe You can handle the weight of my honesty.

There are moments when grief and anger mingle together like storm clouds, and I can’t tell which is raining harder—the tears of sorrow or the heat of rage. You know the injustice that’s been done. You know the words spoken against me, the betrayal that cut so deep. And it isn’t just the action that wounds me, it’s the echo. The replay in my mind that won’t stop, the wondering if I could have changed something, prevented something, spoken differently, acted sooner. That kind of torment eats at the soul.

And then comes the silence—the silence of heaven that feels louder than thunder. I ask, I beg, I cry out, and the heavens remain still. God, that silence hurts. It feels like distance, even though I know in my mind You promised never to leave me. But in my heart, I ask: “Where are You now? Where were You when I needed You most? Why did You allow this to happen?”

I confess, Lord, I wrestle with the thought that You could have prevented all this. You could have moved one stone, whispered one word, shifted one circumstance—and the pain would never have come. But You didn’t. And that’s where my anger lives—in that gap between what You could have done and what You allowed.

And yet… deep down I know that anger itself is not the end of the story. My Bible is full of people who brought their raw, unfiltered cries before You. David said, “How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?” Job tore his robe and demanded answers. Even Jesus cried out on the cross, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” If the Son of God Himself uttered those words, then maybe I too can stand in that place of agony and not be rejected. Maybe my broken cry is still worship, because it acknowledges that I still believe You’re there to hear me.

I am hurt, yes. I am torn. But I am not hopeless.

Because in the very core of my being, where the pain has not drowned out truth, I still know this: You are good. Not good because life is easy. Not good because things always go my way. But good because You are unchanging. Good because the same hands that allowed the nail to pierce also rolled away the stone. Good because You take ashes and somehow make beauty.

Still, I have to ask You to help me, because my heart doesn’t feel that right now. I don’t see beauty—I see ashes. I don’t feel victory—I feel defeat. I don’t sense joy—I sense loss. And maybe that’s why I’m writing this prayer: not because I’ve figured everything out, but because I need You to meet me in the mess.

God, would You take my anger and not despise it? Would You take my tears and not dismiss them? Would You hold my heart even as it beats wildly with confusion? You don’t require me to sanitize my prayers, and I am grateful. You want the truth of who I am, even when that truth is ugly.

I remember Jacob wrestling through the night. He walked away limping, but also carrying a blessing. If I have to limp away from this season with scars, let me limp with Your blessing too. Don’t let me leave this valley empty-handed. If suffering is to be my teacher, then let it also be the soil where seeds of faith grow.

God, I don’t know how to forgive those who caused this pain. I don’t even know if I want to forgive. But I know You’ve called me to, and I can’t get around that. So, I ask You to begin the work in me, because I don’t have the strength to begin it myself. I ask You to show me how Your Son forgave from the cross, not when wounds were healed but while they were still bleeding. That’s a kind of grace I can’t manufacture on my own.

And Lord, would You heal the places in me that feel permanently broken? The fault lines in my soul that keep shaking every time another disappointment comes? I want to trust You, but I keep flinching, bracing for the next blow. Teach me what it means to rest in You, not because my circumstances are secure, but because You are.

I know anger can consume. I don’t want to be defined by it. I don’t want bitterness to poison the well of my spirit. So take this anger, Lord, and refine it. Let it become holy anger against injustice, not destructive anger against my neighbor. Let it burn away pride, but ignite passion for Your truth. Let it remind me I am alive, and that my heart still beats with longing for righteousness.

God, I’m angry. But I am still Yours.
God, I’m hurt. But I still believe You heal.
God, I’m torn. But I trust You can make me whole again.
… #prayer #angry #trustgod