Please rescue me. My heart is such a mess. I wish I could just totally trust you without limits or conditions, believing you are good even when you give me adversity. I’m in such a sticky spot. … My heart is driven to so much anxiety. Please help me! … I don’t like this. I’m so uncomfortable. I feel so trapped and helpless. … This is so hard for me. And no one can really understand the pressure and anxiety and fear and loneliness that I feel in this situation. I feel guilty for not being more relaxed, more at ease and willing to go with the flow. I don’t know how to do that, especially with a toddler. God, this makes me want to not have any more kids. The thought of handling more than this crushes me. I don’t know how to adjust … I don’t know what to do, God. … I want to get out of here. But God, you have me here. All of this disorganization was organized by you. All of the unclear plans are a part of your plan. All of the letdowns are a part of your working good for me.
But God I feel so rejected by you. Why here? Why now? Why me? Are you punishing me? Have you forgotten how you’ve designed me? Do you want me to just buck up? Are you tired of me? Do I annoy you, that you would send me away like this? Why am I crying out for help, but panic attacks still come? Why am I crying out for help, but I still end up anxious and angry, and I still end up feeling like a disappointment? What is it that you want from me, Lord? I’m sorry for speaking so boldly, but God it’s hard for me to really believe you are good when it hurts and I’m so confused. I can’t demand you to zap me out of my circumstances. But I’m begging you to deliver me from my anxiety, deliver us from evil befalling us, deliver us from pride destroying our marriage, deliver me from the despair that’s knocking at my door, the panic attacks that stalk me.
The worst part about all this is that I feel guilty for feeling so uncomfortable in the first place. So many are suffering much, much worse than I am. They would rejoice with dancing and shouting to have this week that I’m having. Even more, you have suffered infinitely more than I ever will. This is nothing to you. But it’s not nothing to me. If a child lives in utter fear of the monsters under her bed at night, won’t a good parent still tend to her cries for refuge and help—even if the parent has bigger, real issues to deal with like bills and relationships? You don’t despise my cries for deliverance from these monsters under my bed; these things that seem so crushing; these lies I’m believing because I don’t yet understand as I will; these things that threaten my faith in you. These complaints and pains are nothing compared to your suffering and the suffering of others, but that doesn’t mean that they mean nothing to you…because I don’t mean nothing to you. I’m not a nameless blip on a screen. You called me by name. You know me intimately. And you say you care.
You say you care enough to want to hear my concerns and complaints. You care enough to send your Son and not spare him the wrath I deserve. You care enough to open up your throne room 24/7 for me through Christ. You care enough to promise me that you are keeping me; that you are preserving an inheritance for me; that this will all result in greater praise to you; that I’ll come out as purified gold. I’m longing, God. I’m longing to hold you, no, to be held by you. Hold me in my chaos. Speak to the storm in my heart and calm these waves. Say to my soul that you are my salvation. Make me to rest in you, God. I’m sorry for how much I don’t, for how much I rely on earthly comforts and relationships to make me feel secure. I am in desperate need of you. Please come.
In your name I pray,