There are few things more painful than feeling betrayed or abandoned by those we expect to stand by us—especially when those people are family. When the ones who should show compassion instead show cruelty or apathy, the hurt cuts deep. It stirs up a powerful and often confusing sense of anger, and as a person of faith, that anger feels especially complex. In these moments, I find myself wondering: How do I handle this? How do I honor my faith while still standing up for what is right?
The Bible is full of stories of righteous anger, a kind of holy fire that propels people to take action in the face of injustice. I’ve found strength in the story of Joshua, who courageously followed God's commands to take the Promised Land, despite the overwhelming odds and the moral weight of the mission. In my life, my family has been a constant source of tension and frustration as I try to care for my father in his time of need. Watching some of my family members turn their backs on him and treat him poorly feels not only wrong but profoundly unjust.
This isn’t just anger—it's a deep, relentless feeling that cries out for justice. It makes me want to lash out and force them to see the pain they’re causing. And yet, my faith reminds me that there's a line between justice and vengeance, one that is easy to blur when our hearts are hurting.
One of the most challenging aspects of faith is the call to leave ultimate justice to God. It’s hard to feel such strong emotions, knowing that God promises to deal with those who act with cruelty, but also requires us to forgive and find peace. This isn’t a passive peace, nor does it mean we ignore wrongdoing. Instead, it means that while we work toward justice, we release the bitterness and allow God to guide our actions.
In Romans 12:19, we’re told, "Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath." It’s a call to let go of the need to personally deliver judgment, to trust that God sees and that His justice will prevail. But this doesn’t mean silence; it doesn’t mean ignoring the pain or accepting mistreatment. Instead, it’s an invitation to choose our battles carefully, guided by love and truth.
What I’ve learned in this journey is that faith doesn’t call us to be passive or weak; it calls us to be strong in ways that often seem contradictory to the world. Choosing to trust God’s justice requires us to walk with integrity, to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, and to defend the dignity of our loved ones. But it also requires humility, the willingness to say, "I’ll do my part, and I’ll let God handle the rest."
This doesn’t mean the anger simply fades away—it may not. Instead, I’m learning to channel that anger into action, to ensure that my father’s needs are met, and to draw boundaries that protect him. Rather than being consumed by bitterness, I’m using my energy to create change, letting God guide me through each step of this challenging path.
Just as Joshua led his people with unwavering courage, I feel called to stand up for what is right. But the weapons of this battle aren’t ones of vengeance or cruelty; they’re ones of prayer, patience, and perseverance. They’re found in creating space for honest conversations and, if necessary, separating myself from those who choose pettiness over love.
This journey isn’t about winning against those who hurt us, but about finding peace within ourselves, knowing that we’ve acted with integrity. Forgiveness, when it comes, will be a gift from God, a reflection of His grace working through me. Until then, I’ll keep praying, keep acting, and keep trusting that God’s justice will prevail.
If you’re going through something similar, know that your anger isn’t wrong. It’s a natural response to injustice and cruelty. But remember, as I’m trying to remind myself, that our faith gives us a choice. We can either let that anger consume us, or we can turn it into a force for good, a force that stands up for what is right without losing sight of God’s love and ultimate justice.
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