She was . . .

She was angry. 

Carried a chip on her shoulder the size of Alaska.

If you crossed her, she would hurl insults under her breath,

Though, when out of earshot, the insults would fly verbally.

She was bitter. 

Harbored hurts in a protective fashion,

Clinging to them as if they were living and breathing,

Almost like they were something to be cherished.

She was resentful.

Anything good that someone else did, she tore apart in her mind.

Why? She thought she could do a better job,

Or at least thought she deserved a chance to prove that she could.

She was miserable.

Hanging on to negative feelings was exhausting.

They weighed her down,

And the pain of carrying those emotions kept her bound in chains.

Until . . .

She met Jesus.

And that day

As He held out His hands

She handed Him

Her anger

Her bitterness

Her resentment

Her misery

And He . . .

Well, He nailed them to the cross.

And She?

She . . . was . . . free.

 

Image is compliments of morguefile.com

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