I find myself wanting to be angry over the death of my youngest daughter. I want to be angry. ANGRY! But at who? Not my daughter. Not at my wife. Not at any of the rest of our family. Not at friends or the community.
The devil, our adversary. That’s who I want to be thoroughly pissed at. The author and purveyor of death. The one who kept whispering in our little girl’s ear that she wasn’t worth staying here, alive, growing older with us, marrying, having grandchildren. The stupid SOB who stole her life away!
There! I said it. And yet, those few words don’t really scratch the surface of all I could say. Those few words don’t convey all the dreams and ideals I had for Yvonne. The words are simply an encapsulation of moments and days and months and years of built-up expectation. And that SOB cut it all short!
I have news for you, satan, your days are numbered. God’s already won this whole war, and you’re on the losing end. Look at what’s coming your way and cower, because you won’t be able to avoid it. All the crap you foisted off on us humans, all the lies and misdirection, all the pain and death—you’re going to pay dearly for every transgression. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not going to be simply snuffed out, you’re going to have the rest of eternity to burn in a lake of fire. (Revelation 20:1-10)
So…I’ll let God handle that, and I’ll take a full measure of consolation that your premeditated, unadulterated evil will be ended and recompensed in an appropriate fashion. Tremble now. For you know it’s coming. You can’t stop it. You chose to be on the wrong side of this; and it will be your just ‘reward’ for all the damage you’ve done. Where’s your power now? Once death is done away with, what more have you to torment us? Nothing. Nothing at all.