Some are driven by love. Some by duty and others by honor. Still more are driven by bitterness or vile.
But I am driven by hatred and rage.
I fully realize as a follower of Jesus Christ, I should be motivated by love. Patient, kind, sacrificial love.
For God and my fellow man.
And I do love both. But that’s not what drives me.
It’s loathing for you, Satan. It’s my cross to bear. Ugly, putrid, loathing for you.
I hate what you’ve done to my family and my country. I hate what you’ve done to my body. I hate what you’ve done to our soldiers and our grandparents.
I hate the pain you weave into the fabric of our spirits. I hate the anger you breathe on the masses, spraying the innocent with bullets and blood. I hate the disgusting perversion you ooze onto our daughters, stealing their innocence and laughter.
I HATE YOU!
I hate you for the babies who are ripped so savagely from their mother’s wombs and into the waiting arms of angels. I hate you for the torture and mutilation of beauty. I hate you for the fiery, seething agony which blankets the dying. I hate you for the demon of cancer you so recklessly splay on the masses.
Yes, I love God. Yes, I love my family.
Yes, I love humanity and toil for them in hopes that a few may be spared a godless eternity.
But, as hard as it is for me to admit, I think my hatred for you runs deeper than all that.
Your very being emits a foul and rotting odor. Horror and death are your offspring. You are an abomination and a curse.
You disgust me to my core. Pain and depression be damned, I will never…
Stop fighting you.
In the righteous and holy name of Jesus Christ, my Savior, I shall never stop raging against you.
And I shall be laughing in the presence of God almighty–surrounded by my people, going all the way back to the genesis–while you are sentenced to an eternity of endless torture.
Every pain and sorrow and disease and rape and mutilation and torture for every human since the beginning of time, visited upon you ten thousand fold, forever.
And your victims shall be unaware of your burden, your impalement, your abhorrent screeching, as we are at play in the fields of the Lord.