...Finally Arrived!...

Hormones, that is. 16 days post-op, and they reared their ugly little heads.

The mood swings; the anger, the confusion, the irritation, the frustration and don't forget the tears.

I feel like I had pre-grieved. Now I am just flat-out MAD.

I'm mad that I have had to go through all this to begin with. I'm mad that people judge me. I'm mad that I have allowed myself to fall into unhealthy eating habits and I am stark-raving MAD that weight is easier to pack on, than burn off.

As I sit here with my Bible open to Psalm 1, I can't help but be uplifted, right? ..... RIGHT?!!... No, I can't help but feel myself slip into a jaded pool of ugly. Self-loathing knows no bounds. It lurks in dark corners, and it flashes it's gruelling smile when one's guard is down.

. . . And, I swear, if I have to look at one more pregnant woman . . .

I mean, I know that it's not her fault. It's just that I want to claw my own eyes out every time I encounter one. I am incapable of being nice, at this point. Nothing cordial. My voice will practically ooze disdain should I be forced to actually talk to one.

It's all I can do to choke back a scream..........

Lord! Help me!
As Christ, my example, did in Gethsemane, I am asking You to take this from me.
Remove this anger, this bitterness and this ugly ammunition for Hell.
Help me, ABBA!!! Help me to understand it. To get over it, if You will not remove it completely.
But not my will.
As a broken horse gives in to the bit, so I ask for You True and Perfect Will.
Help me to praise You. To delight in the Refiner's fire.
Walk with me, that those who do not know You will see - as Nebuchadnezzar did when You were with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in their Babylon.
Be with me here, in this Babylonian world. Hold my hand and comfort me, as only You can.
I love you. And I promise, Lord, to do my best to praise You in the midst.
You know me, Lord. From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, You molded me.
You gave me my identity.
You know where my heart is in all this.
Resotre me, Father. For Your glory.
I rebuke my pride and I praise You.
In the Mighty Name above all names, Jesus, I pray.
Amen.