Resentment kills a fool. Job 5:2
Lord Jesus, it’s been entirely too hot in our city this summer, and I’ve registered that protest entirely too many times—so often, I can now see that my complaining has been morphing into resenting. It came to a head yesterday when I walked out my front door yesterday for a jog, only to find myself cursing the humidity, the temperature, even the sun. That led to a thirty-minute pout and deep conviction by your Holy Spirit. You made it clear the weather isn’t the only thing I’ve been resenting lately. Have mercy on me, the sinner, have mercy on me, gracious Savior.
I resent crazy-making in the Body of Christ—obnoxious pettiness and drive-by-shooting criticisms. I resent roads that are always being repaired; drivers that delay moving four seconds after the red light turns green; birds that do their business on my windshield right after I exit the car wash.
I resent resentful people. Why can’t they stop their whining and be more content with what they have? I resent good grass dying and crabgrass thriving. I resent the recent political madness of our government. I especially resent inequitable suffering. People I love suffer too much, too soon, too often in life. It just doesn’t seem right or fair, Jesus.
I resent having to explain and repeat myself. Why can’t everybody instantly intuit what I’m thinking? I resent grocery stores running out of my favorite cereal. Who does their stocking, anyway? I resent gossips, so much that I gossip to others about their gossip. I resent change and transition. Why can’t everything stay the same, or at least disrupt my plans minimally?
Jesus, my resentment will either kill me as a fool or drive me to you for life. Today, I choose the second option. Forgive me for fertilizing a spirit of entitlement. Forgive me for not pulling up the roots of bitterness sooner. Forgive me for being better at resenting than repenting of late. Forgive me for demanding life in the “not yet” before the “already” is over. Forgive me for preaching the gospel to others but not to myself. Forgive me for telling others about the sufficiency of your grace while looking for some other balm for myself.
I make no excuses or promises. Right now, I simply collapse upon you afresh, Jesus—as my wisdom, my righteousness, my holiness, and my redemption (1 Cor. 1:30). I hope no hope for change apart from the gospel. I praise you I’m not feeling condemnation, for there is none. I praise you I am feeling conviction, for there is plenty. So very Amen I pray in your patient and loving name.
Justin Taylor
Lord Jesus, it’s been entirely too hot in our city this summer, and I’ve registered that protest entirely too many times—so often, I can now see that my complaining has been morphing into resenting. It came to a head yesterday when I walked out my front door yesterday for a jog, only to find myself cursing the humidity, the temperature, even the sun. That led to a thirty-minute pout and deep conviction by your Holy Spirit. You made it clear the weather isn’t the only thing I’ve been resenting lately. Have mercy on me, the sinner, have mercy on me, gracious Savior.
I resent crazy-making in the Body of Christ—obnoxious pettiness and drive-by-shooting criticisms. I resent roads that are always being repaired; drivers that delay moving four seconds after the red light turns green; birds that do their business on my windshield right after I exit the car wash.
I resent resentful people. Why can’t they stop their whining and be more content with what they have? I resent good grass dying and crabgrass thriving. I resent the recent political madness of our government. I especially resent inequitable suffering. People I love suffer too much, too soon, too often in life. It just doesn’t seem right or fair, Jesus.
I resent having to explain and repeat myself. Why can’t everybody instantly intuit what I’m thinking? I resent grocery stores running out of my favorite cereal. Who does their stocking, anyway? I resent gossips, so much that I gossip to others about their gossip. I resent change and transition. Why can’t everything stay the same, or at least disrupt my plans minimally?
Jesus, my resentment will either kill me as a fool or drive me to you for life. Today, I choose the second option. Forgive me for fertilizing a spirit of entitlement. Forgive me for not pulling up the roots of bitterness sooner. Forgive me for being better at resenting than repenting of late. Forgive me for demanding life in the “not yet” before the “already” is over. Forgive me for preaching the gospel to others but not to myself. Forgive me for telling others about the sufficiency of your grace while looking for some other balm for myself.
I make no excuses or promises. Right now, I simply collapse upon you afresh, Jesus—as my wisdom, my righteousness, my holiness, and my redemption (1 Cor. 1:30). I hope no hope for change apart from the gospel. I praise you I’m not feeling condemnation, for there is none. I praise you I am feeling conviction, for there is plenty. So very Amen I pray in your patient and loving name.
Justin Taylor
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