I watched my father die, Monday.
Last night, I felt that urge to read my bible. I ALWAYS associate that pull as God telling me He has something for me.
I immediately started crying arguing with Him:
"I don't want to only because I don't want to hear about being a virtuous woman. I'm sick of being told I need to be patient. I'm sick of being compassionate. I'm tired of hearing we must be merciful, forgiving, and loving to people who have nothing but the opposite for me. I'm tired of being strong. God, I don't want to hear any of that. I will read Your book, but I need something else. I don't even know if I'm allowed to ask for that or say these things, but I can't listen to any of that other stuff tonight. Not tonight..."
And He entered the synagogue again, and a man was there who had a withered hand. So they watched Him closely, whether He would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse Him. And He said to the man who had the withered hand, "Step forward." Then He said to them, "Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?" But they kept silent. And when He had looked around at them with anger, being grieved by the hardness of their hearts, He said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." And he stretched it out, and his hand was restored as whole as the other.
Being grieved by the hardness of their hearts...
God needed me to know that He was sad about those who had hardened their hearts toward me, but that He still needed me to "stretch out my hand" and receive the healing He has to offer.