I used to hear at church, “your arms are too short to box with God”. I thought it an odd phrase because I didn’t want to fight God, I just wanted to understand some things. I also grew up hearing that being mad at God was a sin; I decided to book my first class ticket to hell that day because I was a boiling cauldron of anger. I recognize now that my parents and their peers were remnants of slavery and may have transposed characteristics between God and the master, so they could only teach what they knew. When I was younger, I watched WWE and all the entertainment that it provided. My readers’ imagination would picture being in the ring with God while the audience whoops, hollers and places bets. I could see God sitting on a throne in His corner, wearing a white traveling robe because you know His everyday one would fill the room. I would be in my corner putting my mouth piece in, getting last minute tips from decent church folks I had no intention of listening to, and wrapping my gloves to make sure they held tight. The bell would ring us into round one and I’d rush to the middle ducking and weaving, building up a good sweat. I’d start to feel that lactic acid and I’d start “taunting “ God. Imagine! Reminding Him of all my failures and dashed hopes and shredded dreams; giving Him examples of people I deemed unworthy that had possession of my blessings. God would just sit there calmly, letting me vent and expel my emotions as He looks lovingly at me. Of course that just makes me mad because why isn’t He engaging? After about 20 minutes of my shenanigans, I plop down in the middle of the ring exhausted, spent and mildly frustrated. It is at this point that I imagine God reaching out His hand and asking me if I feel better. I take a moment to consider myself and find that yes, I do indeed feel better; I feel heard, empty and peaceful. God then picks me up and we leave the building because He has a purpose for me to pursue and my issues wouldn’t let me see it…now that I’m an empty vessel, I can.