Sovereign God... yeah, that's right, sovereign. You see me. You see everything. Here I am, laying here. You saw me jump. You watched me fall. Or did you push me? What's the difference, I'm down and you see it. The righteous fall seven times and get up again... but I don't feel like getting up tonight. It's comfy down here. Moping feels kinda good.
You know all the things I want, God. I keep asking. You keep withholding. There's a purpose to all of it. In my blindness, I can't see it... the blindness you permitted. Or did you strike me blind? What's the difference? Blind I remain, and so I suffer. I feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but without any tears. It's a silently ferocious rage. I'm just sitting here, no one would notice. You can see it though. I know you can. But you don't act like you can. So what's the difference? Your permitting this suffering... or did you strike me with this suffering? What's the difference? I keep suffering, and you aren't stopping it.
I'm a sinner, I don't deserve a single thing you've given me. I don't deserve a single thing you plan to give me. Nevertheless, you told me to ask... so I've asked... over and over. I've asked for much smaller things with far less passion and have received them quickly. Why not this thing? Why not now? You want perseverance? You want character? I don't think I have it tonight. Tonight, all I have is heaviness. Can you do something with that? Or did you cause it yourself? You see it, and that's all that matters. I don't doubt your hand in every detail of this pain for a split second. Others might, but I never have and I never will. I know you're in control. I know it so deeply that I can't help but cut the crap and talk to you like it.
God, you know what I want. I ask that you give it to me... Now. Not later, but sooner. If you don't, you know I'll praise you anyway, but then I'll ask again. If you still don't give it to me, it will hurt, but then I'll praise you again. What else would I do? Fighting with you is like trying to jump to the moon. You're in control, I'm not. Right now, it's costing me my comfort left right and center. It's making me rage. But then, you already knew that. I might as well say it. You're ultimately the one hurting me right now, and I wish you would stop. You're the God of everlasting comfort, yet it does not always seem ever present. Though you slay me, I will hope in you. Like Job, I'll take comfort in you, no matter the evil you bring upon me.