God, I am furious tonight. Not at You—no, never at You—but at this world that is broken, at circumstances that are relentless, at people who hurt without thinking twice. My soul is screaming, and I can barely sit still. I feel like I’m drowning, gasping for understanding in waters that never stop rising. Yet here I am, writing to You because You are the only one who makes sense in this mess.
I think about Joseph tonight, because how else do I keep from losing it completely? Genesis 47: “Now there was no bread in all the land; for the famine was very severe, so that the land of Canaan languished because of the famine.” No bread. No relief. Complete chaos. Joseph faced a famine that could have destroyed everything he knew, and yet he didn’t crumble. He didn’t curse the heavens. He said to his brothers: “God sent me before you to preserve life. For these two years the famine has been in the land, and there are still five years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvesting. And God sent me before you.”
And God sent him. God sent him. Before the famine even touched the land, before the hunger and fear and suffering began, God was already there. Why, then, do I feel like I am the only one standing in the middle of fire without armor? Why does it feel like everyone else has a map and I’m stumbling blind? I rage, God—not at You—but at the injustice of it all, the way life twists its knife and tests faith with cruelty.
Psalm 34:19 haunts me tonight: “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.” And yet, I feel battered, bruised, and sometimes abandoned. My patience is raw, frayed. I cry and pray and sometimes feel like I am screaming into a void. Help me, God, not to let this anger turn into bitterness. Let it drive me closer to You, not push me away. Let it sharpen my vision so I can see You in the middle of the storm.
I am tired of feeling powerless. I hate feeling powerless. I hate that I have to wait, watch, and hope while everything around me collapses. I want to shake the heavens and demand justice, demand clarity, demand relief. And yet, I will not curse Your timing. I will not trade faith for fury, even if the fury feels justified. Teach me to channel this anger, God, into fierce, unrelenting trust. Let me be bold in my petitions, raw in my prayers, and unwavering in my belief that You are not silent.
Lord, I confess I often recite my woes faster than I declare Your greatness. I am quick to narrate my fears but slow to proclaim Your faithfulness. Forgive me, Father. Teach me to shout Your glory over the chaos. Let my mouth speak heaven’s truth louder than my heart beats with panic.
I want to be like Joseph. I want to see the famine, the heartbreak, the betrayal, and still say, “God sent me before this. God is here. God will outlive this.” I want to hold that certainty in my chest while the storm tries to tear it away. I want to rage against the evil, cry against injustice, and still stand firm because You, Lord, are unshakeable.
Psalm 46:1 says, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Very present. Not maybe, not later, not if I’m lucky—very present. And yet, I wrestle with the silence sometimes. I scream into my pillow, throw my hands to the sky, demand answers, and still You remain. Not absent. Not inattentive. Just…waiting for me to trust.
I am angry, Lord. I am frustrated. I am afraid. And I am faithful. My heart is raw, but it is Yours. I will not turn away. I will not whisper quietly while my faith crumbles in the background. I will roar in prayer. I will challenge the darkness with my cries. I will cling to You with teeth gritted, fists clenched, and soul unbroken.
Teach me to walk through this chaos with fire in my heart. Let my anger become courage. Let my frustration fuel persistence. Let my despair sharpen my faith. Let me remember that the famine, the pain, the brokenness—they do not define me. You do. You define me. You precede me. You outlive this.
So tonight, God, I surrender all my anger, all my confusion, all my trembling, and I place it in Your hands. Let me speak life over the chaos. Let me declare Your purpose over the pain. Let me see You in the famine, in the betrayal, in the sleepless nights. I will not lose sight of You, Lord. Even when I rage, even when I cry, even when I feel abandoned—I will not lose sight of You.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The Christian Tech-Nerd 