Broken Heart and Clenched Fist.

I just got back from a high school football game. I love football games. I love the energy of the fans. The determination of the players. Pretending I know what is really going on and really just cheering when everyone else is cheering.

This game however wasn't so much fun. The team played well (from what I could tell in my limited knowledge). It was beautiful weather. I had my camera. All good things. But I found it hard to enjoy myself as my heart broke to pieces within me and my fists grew tight from clenching.

The culture.

The culture I was surrounded by was seeped, saturated, basted and marinated in sex. It was e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. In the clothes (or lack thereof), in the walks, in the cheerleaders (no surprise there - except for the fact that they were 12 and 14), in the body language, in the conversation, in the coarse joking. I was grappling with the same sensations I get whenever I go to a bar or club- unable to remain focused on the masks, the facades, I can't help but see past the painted smile to the dark despair and increasing confusion beneath. Intense sorrow coupled with Sicilian anger. Not at the kids - they're just kids! Even those who think they know what they're doing have very little clue as to what game they're playing. No, when I think about the kids, the girls especially, that is when my heart breaks. Physical pain.

It's when I think about the culture, the lies, the ones propagating this... this... *hard swallow* stuff that I find my throat constricting and my knuckles whitening. It is when I consider the enemy that is having free play with the blind and the deaf and the dumb that I get angry. Vengeful. Defensive.

I hope it is a righteous anger. Or at least more like it than not. I hope that I am able to keep the anger directed towards those who deserve it rather than take aim at the crippled captives the enemy hides behind.

Oh Lord, what would you have me do? My heart cries out to You that You would somehow use me, a broken vessel, to reach out to those who are in the dark, stumbling, falling. Why should Your Grace extend to me if I can't in turn extend it out to others?

The lump in my throat is unable to be formed into words. Know the cry of my heart, Father. Know the desire of my being. To know You. To make You known.

Help.