It wasn't going to be an easy conversation, no matter how I approached it, but a young woman was going to die. She had been missing for nearly a month. Missing person reports had been issued along the I 10 corridor between New Orleans and Houston. The woman was a mother with two small children who suffered from a mental illness and would often disappear to self-medicate, usually only for a few days at a time. This time it had been weeks and the family was fearful that she had either ran into some, "real trouble," or had died.

A rollover accident on the highway near Beaumont, Texas, would bring the "Jane Doe," to Galveston, UTMB, where treatment would be provided. The woman never regained consciousness, but because of the missing person report, she was identified within a few hours.

I was on call the night she was discovered at the accident, and authorities had managed to contact her parents. By morning, the woman's mother was at her bedside as machines and hanging IV's kept her daughter alive.

I was present when the woman's mother arrived. There were so many emotions shared. A sense of joy that they had found their daughter, but also great sadness at the same time. There was no way their daughter would survive, and if she did, she would only be a living memory of the woman she once was.

The decision was made to stop all treatment, but not before a call was made back to the home where the woman's two daughters were waiting to hear that their mom was okay.

I offered to make the call for the mother of the woman. She would talk to the girls and let them know that their "Mommy was very sick, and can't talk right now," but they could tell her that they love her.

I held the phone near the patient as the call was made. The father of the woman answered and soon the two girls, ages 9 and six were on the phone. Their voices reminded me of my own children when they were that age. The youngest immediately began to tell her mom about a kitten they had found. Both girls shared how much they missed their mom, and that they hoped that she would get better. The mother of the woman struggled to tell the girls that "Mommy can't talk right now, but she can hear you just fine. She is happy to hear your voices. Now, let her know you love her. The doctors are helping mommy and we can't stay on the phone."

One of the girls politely responded, "Yes, ma'am," and promptly told her mother she loved her. The other followed. Both telling their mother how much they missed her and that they hoped to see her again soon.

The woman told the girls that she loved them, and how happy their mom was to hear their voices and then asked me to hang up the phone. She fell into her own hands and cried. "I'm glad that is done."

We stayed in the room while machines became quiet, monitors were turned off, and all treatment stopped. The room became completely quiet, except for a conversation being held outside the room by staff.

The woman's mother looked at me and said, "I don't know if this is right or not, but I feel relieved to know that she is finally at peace."

She shared of all the times the woman struggled with her illness. The tests, the changes in medications, the men that had been in the woman's life, and the birth of both of the girls and how she and her husband were raising them both because they, "never knew what that next phone call would bring."

She shared how "somehow I knew," that this would be where the woman would end her life. She looked at me and asked if somehow this made her a "bad person?"

Our love for one another has many expressions, and the relief found in the peace of someone passing is something I encounter more than what people realize, and then the guilt that seems to wash over them because in some way they feel as if they are "bad" for allowing the feeling or thought to exist.

Death is something that none of us can avoid. We talk about those who "die well," and those who have lived long lives that somehow enter death in some poetic way, but then there are those that linger, or seem to be filled with unrest, who are surrounded by folks just trying somehow to make it right.

Jesus reminds us, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you."

Our encounter with grief allows for us to have a sense of relief when someone is no longer struggling. When mothers no longer have to "worry about this call," any longer, but also, for the chance for life to move forward.

While none of us are ever truly ready to let go, we do possess the need to move forward, even when we know that the loss will mean sadness, change, and the possibility that our grief may invite guilt. While the peace of God may be present, allowing for that peace is something we all must learn to accept.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

A side note: I always recommend that folks who have experienced loss of any kind, consider joining a grief group, or seek suport from a person who specializes in loss.

Yesterday we attended a wedding in downtown Houston. As we walked the street in front of the venue, surrounded by towering structures and the expansive growth of the city, we also could not ignore the homeless that in some places, lined the foundation of one structure for nearly a city block.

As we walked under street lamps that looked more like modern-day crosses, I still looked in the eyes of those I saw living on the street. There was a time, just over a decade ago, that I could tell you the names of many of those living in the shadows when my ministry was predominately on these streets. In some ways, I look into their eyes because our eyes don't seem to change, and I guess I want to see a familiar face.

In many ways I'm thankful for the stranger staring back at me, as so many of us worked so hard to help provide options to those we served, but the reality is that many of those we served have either moved on with their lives or died.

Jesus reminds us that the poor will be with us always.

It's a simple fact. For me I realize that there will always be a division between those who have two coats, and those that are naked.

I value the words of the letter to the Philippians because it encapsulates the life of someone who has managed to live in both worlds and has found peace.

As the wedding ended last night and the wedding party ventured out onto the concrete sidewalks to do a celebratory walk around the block, cheering, and waving glow sticks along the way, just for a moment even those who were homeless seemed to be part of the celebration as those walking and cheering began to share glowsticks and party favors with those they passed.

For just a moment the energy filled the block, and if you weren't directly under a street lamp, then you really didn't see a difference between everyone on the street at that time. We simply were one in celebration.

I am reminded that John the Baptist proclaimed to those of his day that the, "Kingdom of God is at hand."

I see these moments, and hear these words as they echo off the skyscrapers around us. I wish for more moments like these, and can't wait until we all may find a way to live in harmony, and contentment, with the realization that life like this is possible for all.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

This morning I learned that a woman I have been visiting for the last few months died quietly with her family surrounding her. She was someone who was simply a beautiful soul, both inside and out.

We knew this hour would come, and even yesterday while we visited, we realized that death was no longer something that we talked about. She was dying. Maybe it was the way she hugged me, told me that she loved me, while a tear rolled down her face, and crosses my cheek, that made us both realize that this was our last time to visit.

​I wished her "Shabbat Shalom," as I left.

I remember a few months back, when I entered her home, one of her family friends announced that the "Christian Chaplain," had entered their Jewish home. I touched the mezuzah on the doorpost, and gave thanks for the hospitality as I entered.

As I have shared before, one of the most difficult things about my job is knowing that every new person I meet that is coming on hospice is terminally ill, and knows that time is limited. When I first met her, we realized that had we met under any circumstance, we would have easily become friends.

The first time we visited, she was busy working on a painting that was about to become part of an art show to help raise funds for her care. She showed me a number of paintings. All were images filled with amazing color and captured her spirit.

Last week as she realized that she was encountering another change, she looked at me and asked, "What about my paintings? They are like my life, and right now all I see are pictures that aren't complete."

I shared with her that my grandmother had been an artist and died, leaving sketches and paintings that did not appear to be finished. There is one that I have that someone asked me when he saw it why I didn't finish it? I just remember looking at him and saying, "It is not mine to finish. It is already complete."

She looked at me, and together we found understanding. Like the paintings, there will always exist things in our life that may appear to be incomplete or unfinished. No matter how old or young we may be when we die, but for God who created each of us, the creation is complete, and our time to die happens.

"Even the flower of the field knows when to bloom, and understands when it is time to return to the earth," she said to me.

She looked at me and said, "Even Jesus knew when to say, 'It is finished.' Even as a Jew, I know that." We both looked at one another and smiled.

We are all made perfect through our imperfections. Today I am thankful for her friendship, the hours that we shared, and for unfinished things.

Stay in God's grip! Shalom

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

Lately I have encountered people who seem to be carrying anger that they simply no longer want to own. As one person put it, "I just don't have the energy to be 'that angry any longer.'"

I have oftened wondered why Jesus talked so much about forgiveness and loving one another. I have come to the realization that these are the very things that bring about peace in our life and in the world.

I spent time with a woman in her fifties who probably only has a few weeks to live. She explained that she had to finally, "just let my anger go."

She and her father had a very rough relationship growing up. She is an oldest child, who just seemed to live her whole life attempting to reach a bar raised so high above, that she just never could seem to find a way to ever meet his expectations. "I tried so hard, but then at the end of the day, I would spend my energy beating myself up, and as I got older, I just became angry."

It wasn't until the death of his dad that I realized that his expectations were the same that he had lived with. "When I realized that, my forgiving him might actually allow for him to finally have peace as well."

She went on to say that she was able to openly talk about what she had felt throughout her life, and what she had observed in his own life. "His tears began to flow, and so did mine. It was as if we were watching all our pain just wash away."

"Last night we just sat next to one another, held hands, and watched television. I can't really tell you what program was on. All I know is that the anger was gone, and I was sitting with my dad, holding his hand."

​"Clothing ourselves in compassion, humility, gentleness and patience," as the writer of Collosians shares, provides a way for us to allow for forgiveness and the welcoming of peace. It brings us to a place where we can finally breathe and let things go, like anger, and to seek out and find forgivess.

"I am so glad to know that I don't have to spend any more of my energy on this," she said. "I have discovered the peace of sitting still, and allowing forgiveness to exist."

Allowing God to clothe us in these things, means allowing for our spirit to find peace.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

Usually when someone asks me where I grew up, I tell them, "Rattlesnake Holler, Indiana." In truth, I grew up all over the place. I attended six schools prior to middle school. I suppose I call the Holler home because it was the first time I lived in one place and attended the same school for any amount of time. We lived there for nearly three years until we moved again when I was a freshman in high school. Once in high school my mother went through another divorce and I found myself "couch surfing" for a period of time with friends, and then finally given space to stay in the farmhouse of my school bus driver who learned of my situation.

I have to admit, there were times when I really didn't know where my home actually was. Years later while spending time with one of my chaplain supervisors, he asked me, "So, have you addressed your grief from this time in your life?"

I really didn't quite know what to say. I had thought that my childhood had actually been pretty good. I spent summers with my grandparents who traveled around the country with my sister and I, and I had friends at every school I attended. I even still have friends in my life now from that very first school I attended fifty years ago.

It's interesting how a question or words from someone will get you thinking about life, and life situations. While I would like to think that life was good, you know, now that I think about it, there were many times when I was sad about starting over all the time. The loss of childhood things with each move. The times that I felt the loss of belonging somewhere, and the times when going into survivor mode when I felt like there simply weren't any more options, became regular occurrences rather than milestones.

I think if we all are honest, there are some things that can be brought to our mind as being unresolved, but then there is Jesus who invites us to come, and bring all of "this" with us.

I realize that it is those experiences of being in new places where I had to constantly meet new people and make new friendships, that makes it possible for me to now walk into strangers homes and then to journey with them in my role as a hospice chaplain.

The proverbial "making lemonade out of lemons" is the Pslamist's reminder to each of us to ask, "that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple."

We are God's temple, and in one another we seek to find a place where we are always at home, and where all that we have encountered is made into a purpose, even in times of trouble, we will be safe and lifted up upon the rock.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

One thing about working with hospice patients each day is that I meet people who understand that their time left to live is being limited by something, and that the whole idea of quantity versus quality, and what is important, become new lessons each day.

Many times my conversations will focus on, "What is it that God is still trying to teach me?"

A beautiful lady I spent time with, who was an avid reader and learner told me, "Even on the day of my death, God will be teaching me how to die."

Each day we live, God is continuing to reach out to us and offers something that we can learn. Frankly, I think that life could become quite boring, or even stagnant, if it weren't for new opportunities for growth.

We learn over time that we need rest. We learn what foods are healthy, and a lot about creating and having relationships that are good and healthy for us.

I don't think we should wait until we are living in the final months of our life before we start asking what it is that God is trying to teach us. Instead, I would hope that we may begin our day as a blank canvas, asking God what it is that God desires us to learn, so that we may grow into what it is that God has created us to be. The learning opportunities are limitless!

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

One of the hardest discussions I have ever had with another clergy person had to do with whether or not you can be friends with those you have been called to pastor. The response I received was, "No, you really can't be their friend. Pastors come and go, and you must be able to walk away so that the next person called to serve the flock can do so without any issues."

I have to admit, I have failed miserably at not being able to cut all my ties with all the people from all the churches I have served in my life.

I am not afraid to say that I consider myself a friend to many of these folks, and while I may not be preaching from a pulpit where they attend each Sunday, I still know when they are ill, are celebrating birthdays, and anniversaries, among other things. I have, however learned, that there are boundaries created when a pastor leaves the church, which are healthy, but no longer being a friend is another issue.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells the disciples, you are no longer my servants, you are my friends. For me, it makes complete sense. He has called them to follow him. He has spent both waking and sleeping moments with them. They have all been thrown out of communities together, as well as, broken bread together with others.

They are in relationship with one another, and it is a bond that will carry them through eternity, just as we journey together.

Oh, I know that there will be those who will completely disagree with me, and say that they are completely professional and see their role as somehow different from being disciple as well. I have met those who use their status in society, their color, and even their collar to seperate themselves from others as if to proclaim some higher purpose.

I am reminded that we have all been created by the same God, and are created to do God's will in the world, while being in relationship with one another. There is no one person greater or lesser than the next. And that if we are all called to love one another, then we must learn how to be friends first with one another. Jesus tells each of us, "You are my friend." If the Messiah can do that, then we should be able to do the same.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams

I will sing of your steadfast love, O LORD, forever; 
          with my mouth I will proclaim your faithfulness to all generations. 
I declare that your steadfast love is established forever; 
          your faithfulness is as firm as the heavens.
~ Psalm 89:1 - 2​

This prayer continues to remain an important part of my faith journey.  Written by Thomas Merton, I keep a copy of this within my wallet, and often will pull it out to read and reflect upon it at times.

Following in the footsteps of Christ sometimes means that we walk by faith, not by sight.  Faith is a choice.  It's a choice to trust in God even when the road ahead of us is uncertain.

We don't always know what walking by faith may mean for any of us.  

I encounter people walking by faith each day.  I hear of journeys that have both times of great joy, and times of great sorrow.  Knowing where we are at all times has become so important that every phone we carry seems to be telling us where we are, thanks to GPS.  But, the real question we should be asking is, "Where are we being guided in our journey as we walk by faith?"

I love that Merton shares that "I don't know where I will end up," but that "I will trust you."

Those are both things that we as human beings struggle with at times.  We always want to know where we are going, but even as I remind patient's that are terminally ill, "You are still on a journey."

Walking in uncertain steps is never easy, but one thing is certain, we never walk alone.

I would like to think that where we end up will be among green meadows and still waters,  God's presence can come to us wherever we are. 

We may not know where we are being lead this day, but trusting that God knows us, loves us, and is by our side, helps us as we consider the steps we take each day.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

"My faith is exhausted," a woman shared with me.

One of the things about the man who was paralyzed, carried by friends, and then lowered through the roof of a home by friends after digging through layers of materials, who then got the man to the footstool of Christ, is the word "friend."

Have you ever simply reached a point where you doubt your own faith, and whether your faith is sufficient?

I meet people all the time who seem to sense some kind of limit to their faith. When this happens, I will often then share with the person the story of the paralyzed man who was forgiven and healed by Jesus. The healing of the man happens, not because of the man, but because Jesus sees the great faith of the man's friends who overcame great obstacles to get the man to Jesus.

While it took the initiative of the man to stand and to take that which once held him, the mat, and to walk after Jesus tells him to walk, but the healing would not have been possible if it had not been for the determination of the friends, and their faith in Jesus.

So when someone tells me of their struggle to have faith, I share the story of this man, and then say, "Then let me be one of those who will carry you today."

Even still, we are reminded to allow that which we carry, holds us down, or paralyzes us, to be given over to Christ.

We are to be present for one another, especially when we struggle to find our faith, or when we find we are paralyzed.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

"I am never going to come home again, am I?"

I struggled to answer, but knew the truth was better than reaching for some easy response. "No," I said.

The woman had already undergone two years of treatment for cancer, and when her oncologist was out of options, she was told that there is "Nothing more we can do. You're going to die."

The first time I met the woman, she told me several things about her life, and about her illness and treatment. "I did everything they wanted me to do," she said about her treatment. "But when there was nothing left, I felt like I had been abandoned by my doctor. My doctor couldn't even look me in the face when she told me I was going to die. How does someone you've spent the last two years with, taking her advice, and living the way I have had to live, not look you in the face when she tells you that you are going to die?"

So when it came time this last week to move her from her home to a place where she could be better cared for, when she asked me, "Will I ever come back home," I needed to look her in the face and be honest.

None of us are the keepers of God's plan for any of us. Time and time again I am reminded of that very truth, but while we may struggle to live out that plan, we can be bearers of truth, but also peace, to those around us.

While Jesus shared of his leaving with those with him, he did not know all that God had planned. I think those around him, and even those of us reading these words today, struggled to understand how Jesus could not have known all that he would experience. Perhaps he did. Perhaps it was easier to look at those around him and simply say, "Peace be with you," while the world and circumstances raged around him.

It is the calming of the seas in the midst of the storm. It is the presence of the living Christ among his followers, and it is the words that we need to hear when we encounter our own struggles.

This morning the daughter of the woman I was with last week as we moved her from her home called to say that her mother died in the middle of the night last night, and shared, "She is at peace."

Peace be with you.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

Over the weekend I was at the bedside of five patients as they died. Three of the families I had never met, as they were being cared for by other teams, but because I was on call, and the situation called for a chaplain to visit, I was the person designated to visit the patient.

A lot of things go through your mind as you make your way to the bedside of someone you know is in the final hours of life.

While I can read about the patient's history and about the person's faith in their medical records, meeting someone on the day of their death is an extraordinary experience.

I was working at Baptist Hospital East in Louisville, Kentucky, during my first hospital chaplaincy experiences. Ted Hodges, my supervisor, had assigned me to care for patients on the cardiac unit in the hospital. Every time I got off the elevator to head to the unit, I would often take the long way around, walking by the window where you could see the newborn babies.

It didn't take long until I learned that the day of a person's birth was just as important as the day a person died.

We see the importance of new life. Ballons and signs welcoming the person into the world and into a family.

On the other side, I would often help people gather what personal belongings they had brought to the hospital, and watched as those who had visited the dying patient said their "good byes."

Sometimes I long for that view of newborns in the window when I arrive at the home of someone who is dying for the first time. I often look at photos displayed as I enter someone's home for the first time, and get glimpses of the life of the person who has lived, and now is preparing to leave.

Even with the best of notes shared in a chart, the deathbed is always unique and different.

I remember being with someone who had been an avid reader and learner, telling me, that even on her last day of life, God was continuing to work in her life, and that God was teaching her how to die.

For many of us, change occurs just as easy as the sun going down one day, and the sunrise of the next. However, it is not that way for all people.

The man Levi had lived a full life, and had a career. It was important for him to change when he began to follow Jesus. The name change to Matthew was a daily reminder to him and to us all that life in Christ is full of moments where we die unto one thing, and bring forth life into another.

While our physical birth and physical death will be recorded on a piece of stone one day, the times that we have changed, or become more of who God is calling us to be, are endless. Being open to that change is what we call faith.

It is what marks our entire life, from the day we take our first breath, to the surrender of our last. Change is important in all the days of our life.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

"Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord's will is."
~ Ephesians 5: 17


Roughly 70 years ago now, the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was arrested, tried, and executed for having been part of a plot to kill Hitler. His vocal out cries against Nazism and the extermination of the Jews made himself a target.

While a student at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary I would be introduced to Bonhoeffer's life and his book, "The Cost of Discipleship."

It both caused my heart to ache for real justice in the world, while reminding me that sometimes our relationship and vocation to follow and serve God can be challenging and costly.

It didn't make me want to go out and plan to make such radical changes in my neighborhood, or to plot to remove a political figure when the agenda didn't match my own. I did realize that we all, at some point, must stand for something.

The parable of the good seed tells us of three options for where seeds land and sprout, reminding of the good soil necessary to produce a positive outcome. This morning's photo is a reminder of the struggle even a morning glory has to find it's place among the rocky hillside.

I'm unsure why Bonhoeffer and morning glories seem to have filled my thoughts this morning, but we need to be reminded that following Christ at times can be difficult, however, making sure that we are following Christ's heart and not ours is optimum.

There is so much unrest, chaos, and divisions. The struggle to identify "fake news" among millions of sound bytes leaves us all wondering what is the truth and what is a lie.

I remember being a child and my family passed by a group of people protesting the war in Vietnam. The signs asked how many children LBJ murdered that day? As a child I was afraid that he might be after me next. I didn't understand. Of course it wasn't about children my age, it was about young soldiers dying on the battlefield in Vietnam.

I remember being among a group of women, my mother being one of them, when Roe V Wade was being debated. She carried signs with other women demanding the right to decide what happens with their body. I remember not completely understanding what it meant to have an abortion, but understood enough that it meant a woman could decide to have a baby or not.

​I wasn't so much afraid as I was concerned after asking my mother if she had wanted to kill me, too, but couldn't because it wasn't legal. She didn't answer my question, and even nearly a half century later and the strained relationship I have with her, I wonder if somewhere in my mind the answer was "yes."

Our convictions shape what people think of us, what our convictions say about our faith, while providing a window for others into the heart of who we are as a society.

The letter to the Ephesians reminds us not to be foolish. I can almost hear the writer saying, "Don't be stupid y'all!" (I've lived in Texas long enough that I sometimes read and hear things this way!)

While out demonstrating, whether peacefully, chanting about what has happened, or declaring the need for justice, we are told to be careful. We are shaping society, and small children and the world for that matter is watching.

This is an opportunity for us to truly demonstrate our ability to come together and stand as One Nation under a sacred calling whether we be Christian, Jewish, or Muslim. After all, we all know the same Creator, who understands each of us, regardless of our differences, but we must understand what the Lord's will is for us. The only way we can heal our nation is to look honestly at our wounds while seeking to be the instruments of healing together.

The cost of Discipleship should not cost us our nation or the life of one more American at the hand of another American.

While I don't believe that killing is ever the answer, being able to shape ideas that will overwhelm the status quo has to be the optimum opportunity while demonstrating the love of Christ for one another.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

In the past two months I have spent time with two men who were soldiers. One man from Bolivia, the other an American. Both men encountered war. While their battlefields were on different continents, their stories of bloodshed and darkness, the sounds and the smells, are forever etched into their minds and spirits.

At the age of eleven, the man from Bolivia was handed a gun and told to shoot. "I learned very quickly that the last words uttered on the battlefield were 'mother,' and 'God.'"

As a young teenager he was able to escape the battlefield alive and walk to the United States alone. He crossed the border and became a "slave to a man that made me work in the fields and threatened me all the time that he would send me back to the battlefield to die in Bolivia. I finally got free from him, and escaped. I prayed to God that I would be free either in death or with God's help. That is when I met my wife and she saved me."

The other man served in Vietnam. Today he is still afraid of the dark, and must have a fan blowing directly on him because his mission was to seek out the enemy in the tunnels. "They would just wait for you to make a wrong turn. There were traps, and they weren't an easy death. Often they would harm a person enough that they would linger in the tunnel, hot and putrid. You would pray that you would find a bullet, rather than a trap, if you were to be injured. To this day, I get claustrophobic, even in the bathroom. It is awful. I keep telling my family to make sure I am cremated. The thought of my body being buried in a box scares me to death."

I have to admit, when I hear stories of war, and what people are experiencing decades later, just astounds me.

I met a man in his nineties, reliving his march across Italy as a young soldier in WWII, as he lay dying. As he died, all the walls built up in his mind came down, and allowed the memories to once again live.

It is in these strories that I struggle with what humanity does and allows to happen to one another. While I believe that these men, and their journeys, have helped to make their faiths a strong reality, the pain and the cost of the growth, creates turmoil as they journey home.

Scripture is full of stories that often talk of wars and battles, and even of greater wars as heaven and earth collide, and good and evil are separated, and eventually good prevailing.

I hate war and what it does to people. As I look at my children they have grown up in a time when we have always been at war, or "conflicts" to be politically correct. Each day there are families separated as soldiers leave their homes, and each night there are children that go to sleep wondering if their "mommy" or "daddy" will be safe.

The psalmist reflects that "when I speak of peace, they speak of war."

Finding that peace is God's reliance upon us, and the hope that one day we shall all love one another, even as Jesus asked before he was captured and put to death.

May the peace of the Lord be with you.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2018

The things that can make us angry. Some would ask, "Where can I submit my list?"

I had once heard, "Beware the anger of a patient person."

Anger is real, has a purpose in our lives, and next to love, it is something we all know something about.

Ten years ago while working primarily with youth living on the streets of Houston, I remember someone asking me why I always seemed to be angry? I hadn't noticed the change in me. I was busy going to meetings to discuss what could be done with this population while still pastoring a congregation and working as a chaplain in a local hospital.

While I was busy trying to "save the world," as someone coined years ago, I suddenly began to realize that what the person said was beginning to make sense. I really did seem to be angry all the time. The hats I wore were always about advocating and helping people, and I realized that no where was I taking time away to see what this life seemed to be doing to me!

Anger without reason, or anger without purpose, doesn't necessarily serve us well. Unless you're a world class boxer and find that this is what helps you through the fight.

Don't get me wrong. I think people have a lot to be angry about. The question is, how is the anger changing, benefitting, or being resolved in and by you?

The greatest carriers of justice, including many great peace makers have become angry at some point about something and that has made them want to change something.

What if the anger you are feeling is aimed at God?

At least once a week I will spend time with someone who will share, "I am angry at God."

First and foremost, being able to be angry at God is a real thing, and that being mad at God doesn't mean that God loves us less. A diagnosis that changes your life. The loss of a loved one. The close of a company where you have invested your career. All things that can seem to validate the reason you feel the way you do.

I often remind folks that God has "big shoulders," but also that God knows the heart that we have.

The important thing to do is to talk about what it is that is making you angry, and then find a way to do something about it. I have seen the longterm effects of anger in families, relationships, and what happens to a person when they are still angry about something as they lay dying.

We have a God that knows so much about us, that expressing our anger can help to bring us closer to a happier and peaceful life.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2018