God, I Am Angry

Transcript

Welcome And Why Anger Matters

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Hello everyone, welcome to the Couch in the Pew. I am your host Javier and thank you for joining us today. If it is your first time listening, welcome. If you have been with us, welcome back. The Couch in the Pew is a space where we sit with the messy, complicated, and often uncomfortable parts of faith. We don't shy away from hard questions or the pain that comes with believing in a God who seems distant, silent, or even indifferent. This show is for anyone who has ever felt lost, confused, or angry in their relationship with God. Whether you're grappling with loss, trauma, unanswered prayers, or a world that feels unjust, we're here to sit with you. Today's episode is titled God, I'm Angry. We're diving into the complex emotions that arise when we feel anger toward God, especially after experiencing loss, trauma, disappointment, or watching things happen that don't make sense. This isn't a show about finding quick answers or pretending everything is fine. It's about sitting in the truth of how we feel and exploring what it means when our faith is challenged. We'll talk about why anger toward God is a legitimate response to pain, how unanswered prayers can lead to questions about God's presence, and the deep hurt of seeing suffering without resolution. We'll also look at how anger can be a form of prayer, a way to express our spiritual struggle. This is not a show that will give you a pat on the back for feeling angry. It will give you space to feel it, to name it, and to begin to understand it. So let's sit together, not in silence, but in honesty. Let's begin. It's okay to be angry at God. That's not a phrase we often hear in church, not in sermons or hymns, not in the way we're taught to pray. But it's real, it's raw, it's human, and it's something that has been felt by countless people throughout history. When we experience loss, when we face trauma, when we are confronted with suffering that doesn't make sense, it's natural to feel anger toward God. That anger is not a sign of weakness or lack of faith. It's a sign that we're alive, that we care, and that we're trying to make sense of something that feels beyond our understanding. Anger toward God is not about rejecting God, but about questioning Him. It's about grappling with a reality that doesn't align with the promises we've been taught. When we lose someone we

Anger Toward God Is Human

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love, when we face a tragedy that seems to defy logic, when we pray and nothing changes, we're not just hurting. We're hurting in a way that makes us wonder if God is even listening. That anger is a legitimate response to a world that doesn't always make sense, and it's something that many of us have felt, even if we haven't spoken about it. In the Bible, we see examples of people who felt this way. In the book of Job, we meet a man who suffers unimaginable loss and pain, and yet he continues to question God. Job's anger is not a rejection of God, but a deep longing for understanding. He doesn't give up on faith, but he does wrestle with it, and that's something we can relate to. When we feel angry at God, we're not alone. We are part of a long line of people who have walked through pain, confusion, and anger, and yet still held on to the hope that there is meaning in it all. But why does anger toward God feel so uncomfortable? In many religious traditions, there's an emphasis on patience, submission, and trust. These are important virtues, but they shouldn't come at the cost of our emotional honesty. If we silence our anger, we risk silencing the very part of ourselves that is trying to connect with God. Anger is a form of communication. It's a way of saying, this hurts, this matters, I need to be heard. And when we feel that way, especially after loss or trauma, it's not a sign that we failed in our faith. It's a sign that we're still trying to find our way through the darkness. When we experience loss, whether it's the death of a loved one, a broken relationship, or a dream that was shattered, it's natural to feel anger. We might ask, why did this happen? Or where were you when I needed you? These questions are not just about seeking answers. They're about processing pain, about trying to make sense of something that feels unjust. And that's okay. It's part of the human experience to feel that way. But here's the thing: anger doesn't have to mean we're rejecting God. It can be a way of expressing our love for him. When we're angry at God, we're not saying we don't believe in him. We're saying we believe in him so deeply that we can't accept the pain we're experiencing. We're saying, this is not what I expected, this is not what I wanted. And that's a form of prayer. It's a way of bringing our pain to God, even when we don't understand why it's happening. There's a verse in Psalm 6 that speaks to this kind of anger. It says, Lord, rebuke me not in anger, nor chasten me in wrath. Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am faint. O Lord, heal me, for my bones are troubled, my soul is in deep sorrow. How long, Lord, how long? This is a prayer of desperation, of pain, and of anger. It's a prayer that acknowledges the struggle, the confusion, and the longing for God to intervene. And it's a reminder that it's okay to feel that way. It's okay to be angry, to be hurt, to be confused. So when we feel anger toward God, we're not alone, we're not wrong, we're not failing, we're simply human. And in that humanity, there is a kind of honesty that can lead us to a deeper relationship with God. Because when we're willing to sit with our anger, to name it, to bring it to God, we're opening the door to healing. We're allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, to be real, and to be part of a community that understands what we're going through. But this is just the beginning of our conversation. We're not here to give you a quick fix or a pat on the back. We're here to sit with you, to listen, to name the pain, and to begin to understand what it means to feel anger toward God. And if you're feeling that way right now, know that you're not alone, you're not wrong, and you're not failing. You're simply human, trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense. And that's okay. Because in that humanity, there's a kind of faith that can carry us through. So let's keep going. Let's move into the next part of this journey together. When we experience unanswered prayer, it's as if we're standing at the edge of a vast ocean, calling out to someone we believe is listening, only to hear nothing but the sound of our own voice. This silence is not just frustrating, it's deeply painful. It can leave us questioning whether God is even present, whether he cares, or whether he has the power to change what we're going through. Unanswered prayer is a kind of spiritual drought, a time when our faith is tested not by what we see but by what we don't see. And in that moment of silence, anger can rise like a tide, sweeping over us with a force that feels both raw and justified. Unanswered prayer often comes after we've poured our hearts out, believing that God is close, that he hears,

The Pain Of Unanswered Prayer

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and that he responds. But when the answer doesn't come, when the situation doesn't change, when the pain persists, it's easy to feel abandoned. We might ask, why didn't you answer? Or where were you when I needed you? These are not just questions of logic, they are questions of love. They are questions that stem from a deep desire for connection, for reassurance that our prayers matter, that our suffering is not in vain, and when we don't get the answers we expect, it's natural to feel anger, even if it's not the kind we're used to expressing. The problem with unanswered prayer isn't that we pray, it's that we pray and then feel let down. It's not that we don't believe in God, it's that we believe in him so deeply that we expect him to act. And when he doesn't, it can feel like a betrayal. This is where anger can creep in, not as a rejection of God, but as a cry for him to show up. We're not saying we don't believe. We're saying we believe so much that we're hurt when he doesn't respond in the way we hoped. Unanswered prayer becomes a mirror, reflecting our longing for God's presence, our need for him to be real in a world that often feels indifferent. But here's the thing. Unanswered prayer is not a sign that God is absent, it's a sign that he is present in a way we're not yet ready to see. Sometimes God answers in ways we don't expect. Sometimes he answers with silence, not because he doesn't care, but because he knows the answer is not in the moment, but in the future. And sometimes he answers by allowing us to wrestle with our questions, to sit in the discomfort of not knowing, and to grow through that struggle. Unanswered prayer can be a form of waiting, a form of trust, and sometimes it's a form of anger. There's a verse in Psalm 6 that captures this kind of struggle. It says, Lord, rebuke me not in anger, nor chasten me in wrath. Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am faint. O Lord, heal me, for my bones are troubled, my soul is in deep sorrow. How long, Lord, how long? This is a prayer of desperation, of pain, and of anger. It's a prayer that acknowledges the struggle, the confusion, and the longing for God to intervene. And it's a reminder that it's okay to feel that way. It's okay to be angry, to be hurt, to be confused. This kind of prayer is not a rejection of God. It's a way of bringing our pain to Him, even when we don't understand why it's happening. When we feel anger toward God because of unanswered prayer, it's not a sign that we've lost our faith. It's a sign that we're still trying to connect with Him, that we're still trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense. And that's okay. It's part of the human experience to feel that way. It's part of the journey of faith, to wrestle with questions, to sit with pain, and to ask for answers that may not come in the way we expect. But here's the key anger toward God doesn't have to be a dead end. It can be a starting point. It can be a way of opening our hearts to the kind of prayer that doesn't demand answers, but invites presence. It can be a way of saying, I'm hurting, I'm confused, I'm angry, but I still believe. And when we do that, we're not just expressing our pain, we're inviting God into the messiness of our lives, into the places where we don't have the answers, but where we still need Him. Unanswered prayer can be a path to deeper understanding, to a more honest relationship with God. It can be a space where we learn to trust not just in what God does, but in who he is. And when we learn to sit with our anger, to name it, to bring it to God, we're not just expressing our pain, we're opening the door to healing. We're allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, to be real, and to be part of a community that understands what we're going through. But this is just the beginning of our conversation. We're not here to give you a quick fix or a pat on the back. We're here to sit with you, to listen, to name the pain, and to begin to understand what it means to feel anger toward God. And if you're feeling that way right now, know that you're not alone, you're not wrong, and you're not failing, you're simply human, trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense, and that's okay. Because in that humanity, there is a kind of faith that can carry us through. So let's keep going. Let's move into the next part of this journey together. When we watch injustice or suffering unfold without clear resolution, it's as if we're standing at the edge of a storm, watching the waves crash against the shore, knowing that the water is not going to recede anytime soon. This kind of pain is different from the frustration of unanswered prayer. It's not just about our own struggles, it's about the world around us, the people we love, the systems that seem to ignore the cries of the hurting. It's about seeing a child in a war zone, a family torn apart by addiction, a community struggling under the weight of poverty, and feeling helpless to stop it. And in that helplessness, anger can rise, not just toward the situation, but toward a God who seems to be watching, yet not intervening.

Watching Injustice Without Resolution

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This is the kind of pain that can feel like a betrayal of the very hope we've been taught to hold on to. There's a rawness to this kind of anger, because it's rooted in a deep sense of injustice. We believe in a God who is just, who is compassionate, who is faithful, and yet we see suffering that doesn't align with that vision. We see pain that feels like it's being ignored, like it's being overlooked, like it's being allowed to continue. This is where the conflict between our beliefs and our experiences becomes most acute. We're not just angry at the situation, we're angry at the silence, at the lack of resolution, at the absence of a clear answer. And that anger can feel like a burden, like a weight that we can't shake, like a question that has no easy answer. In these moments, it's easy to feel like we're alone, like no one else understands the depth of our pain. But the truth is we're not. Throughout history, people have wrestled with the same questions, the same frustrations, the same sense of helplessness. The Bible itself is filled with stories of people who stood in the face of injustice, who cried out to God, and who were met with silence. There's a story in the book of Job, for example, where a man loses everything, his wealth, his family, his health, and he questions God's justice, asking, Why did you bring me out of the womb? This is not a story of anger for the sake of it, but of deep, honest pain, of a man who is struggling to make sense of a world that feels out of control. This kind of anger is not a rejection of God. It's a cry for him to be real, to be present, to be active in the face of suffering. It's a way of saying, I know you're supposed to be just, but I don't see it, I don't feel it. And that hurts. And in that honesty, there is a kind of faith. It's not the kind of faith that demands immediate answers, but the kind that allows us to sit with the question, to wrestle with the pain, and to keep hoping, even when we don't understand why. But here's the thing: our anger doesn't have to be a dead end. It can be a starting point. It can be a way of opening our hearts to the kind of prayer that doesn't demand answers but invites presence. It can be a way of saying, I'm hurting, I'm confused, I'm angry. But I still believe. And when we do that, we're not just expressing our pain, we're inviting God into the messiness of our lives, into the places where we don't have the answers, but where we still need Him. This kind of anger is also a reminder that faith is not about having all the answers. It's about being willing to ask the hard questions, to sit with the discomfort of not knowing, and to trust that God is still present, even when the world feels like it's falling apart. It's about finding strength in vulnerability, in the honesty of our pain, and in the courage to bring our anger to God, not as a rejection of Him, but as a way of connecting with Him in the deepest parts of our being. And so, as we wrestle with this kind of pain, we're not just expressing our anger, we are opening the door to healing. We're allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, to be real, and to be part of a community that understands what we're going through. We're not just sitting in the storm, we're learning to trust that God is still with us, even when the waves are crashing. We're not just feeling anger, we are finding a way to move through it, to carry it with us, and to let it shape our faith in ways that are honest, real, and deeply human. But this is just the beginning of our conversation. We're not here to give you a quick fix or a pat on the back. We're here to sit with you, to listen, to name the pain, and to begin to understand what it means to feel anger toward God. And if you're feeling that way right now, know that you're not alone, you're not wrong, and you're not failing. You're simply human, trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense. And that's okay, because in that humanity, there is a kind of faith that can carry us through. So let's keep going. Let's move into the next part of this journey together. Anger toward God is not just an emotion, it's a form of prayer, a way of reaching out to the divine, when words fail, when faith feels distant, and when the weight of suffering is too heavy to carry alone. It's a kind of prayer that doesn't rely on logic or reason, but on honesty, on the raw truth of our pain. In these moments, we're not just expressing frustration, we're opening the door to a deeper kind of connection with God, one that allows us to be real, to be vulnerable, and to be heard. This kind of anger is not about rejecting God, but about demanding that God be present in the midst of our suffering. It's a way of saying, I'm here and I'm hurting. I need you, even when I don't understand why. This kind of prayer is often messy, unpredictable, and deeply human. It doesn't follow the neat structure of a traditional prayer where we ask for specific things or offer polished words of gratitude. Instead,

Turning Anger Into Honest Prayer

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it's more like a cry, a plea, a question that carries the weight of our entire being. It's the kind of prayer that comes from a place of exhaustion, from a place where our faith has been shaken and where we're not sure if God is listening. And yet, in that moment of uncertainty, we're still reaching out, still trying to make sense of a world that feels out of control. This is where the power of anger lies. Not in its intensity, but in its honesty. It's a way of bringing our deepest questions to God, of laying our pain before Him in a way that can't be ignored. There's a beauty in this kind of prayer, because it allows us to acknowledge the complexity of our faith. We don't have to pretend that everything is fine, that our suffering is meaningless, or that God is always present in the way we expect. Instead, we can sit with the tension, with the discomfort of not having all the answers, and with the courage to bring our anger into the light. This is not a rejection of God, but an invitation for Him to meet us in the midst of our struggle. It's a way of saying, I don't have to have everything figured out. I just need you to be real, to be near, and to be present even when I can't see it. And this kind of prayer is not limited to moments of crisis or loss. It can also be a part of our daily walk with God, a way of expressing the fullness of our humanity. We are not just people of faith, we are people of anger, of doubt, of longing. We are people who sometimes feel abandoned, who sometimes question the fairness of the world, and who sometimes struggle to believe in a God who seems so far away. But in those moments we are still called to pray, to speak our truth, and to trust that God is listening, even when we don't hear him. This is the kind of faith that allows us to be honest with God, to bring our pain to him, and to find a way to move forward even when the road is unclear. There's also a kind of freedom in this kind of prayer. It allows us to release the pressure of having to be perfect, of having to act like our faith is always strong, or of having to hide our pain behind a mask of strength. Instead, we're allowed to be real, to be broken, and to be in the process of healing. This is where the power of anger lies, not in its destruction, but in its ability to break down the walls we build around our hearts, to allow God to enter the spaces where we feel most vulnerable. It's a way of saying, I'm not okay and I don't have to be okay to pray. But this kind of prayer also requires patience. It's not always easy to sit with our anger, to let it flow without trying to control it, or to trust that God will respond in the way we expect. Sometimes the response is silence. Sometimes the answer is not what we hoped for, and that's okay, because in those moments we're still being faithful, still choosing to reach out, and still trusting that God is present, even when the world feels like it's falling apart. This is where the depth of our faith is tested, not by the ease of our prayers, but by our willingness to pray even when we don't know what to say. And so, in the midst of our anger, we are invited to find a kind of prayer that is honest, vulnerable, and deeply human. It's a way of expressing the fullness of our experience, of bringing our pain to God without shame, and of trusting that He is still with us, even when we feel alone. This kind of prayer is not about getting answers. It's about being heard, about being known, and about finding a way to move through our pain with the strength of our faith. It's a way of saying, I'm not okay, but I'm still here. I'm angry, but I'm still believing. I'm hurting, but I'm still praying. And in that honesty, we find a kind of faith that is real, that is raw, and that is deeply human. This kind of prayer is also a reminder that faith is not about having all the answers, but about being willing to ask the hard questions. It's about being honest with God, even when we don't know what to say, and about trusting that he is still present in the midst of our struggle. It's about finding strength in vulnerability, in the honesty of our pain, and in the courage to bring our anger to God, not as a rejection of him, but as a way of connecting with him in the deepest parts of our being. And in that connection, we find a kind of faith that is not about control, but about trust. A trust that even in the darkest moments, God is still with us, still listening and still present. Looking at biblical examples of people who expressed anger toward God and how they found resolution helps us understand that this emotion is not new, nor is it unique to our time. Throughout the Bible, we find individuals who wrestled with God, who felt abandoned, and who questioned his presence in the midst of suffering. These stories are not just accounts of despair, they are testimonies of faith, of people who, even in their anger, remained connected to God and eventually found resolution in his love and presence. One of the most powerful examples is found in the Book of Psalms, where the psalmist cries out to God with deep frustration and pain, yet continues to seek his face and trust in his mercy. This psalm, Psalm 613, captures the essence of anger toward God in a way that is both honest and deeply human. The psalmist says, O Lord, rebuke me not in anger, nor chasten me in wrath.

Job Psalms Elijah And Real Faith

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Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am fainting. O Lord, heal me, for my bones are troubled, my soul is in deep distress. How long, O Lord, will you turn away your face? This passage reveals a heart that is not only struggling with pain, but also feeling the weight of God's silence. It's a moment of raw vulnerability, where the psalmist is not asking for comfort in the way we often expect, but for a connection, for a presence that feels absent. The psalmist is not giving up on God, but rather is reaching out, even when the response is not what they hoped for. This kind of prayer is not uncommon in the biblical narrative. In the Old Testament, we see figures like Job, who, after losing everything, questions God's justice and even accuses him of being unjust. Job's anger is not born out of rebellion, but out of a deep sense of loss and a longing for understanding. His friends try to offer answers, but Job is not satisfied with their explanations. Instead, he declares, I have spoken my case, I have made my complaint before God. This is a moment of honesty, where Job is not afraid to voice his pain, even if it means confronting God. And yet in the end, Job's faith is restored, not through the answers he receives, but through the realization that God is still present, even in the midst of suffering. His anger does not lead him away from God, but rather, it deepens his relationship with him, as he learns to trust in a God who is both just and merciful. Another example is found in the story of Elijah, who, after a long period of drought and persecution, feels abandoned by God. In 1 Kings 19, we read of Elijah's despair, where he says, It is enough, O Lord. Take away my life, for I am no better than my father. This is a moment of deep anger and frustration, where Elijah feels that God has turned his back on him, but instead of giving up, Elijah is met by a voice from the still small voice, which reminds him that God has not abandoned him, but is still present in the quiet moments. This is a powerful reminder that even in our anger, God is still near, and that our pain can be a way of drawing us closer to him. Elijah's journey is not one of instant resolution, but of gradual healing, where he learns to trust in God's presence even when the circumstances seem to contradict that truth. These biblical examples show us that anger toward God is not a sign of weakness or rebellion, but a sign of a heart that is still trying to connect with the divine. It's a way of expressing the fullness of our experience, of bringing our pain to God without shame. And in doing so, we find that God is not only present, but also willing to meet us in our struggle. The psalmist, Job, and Elijah all found resolution not through the removal of their pain, but through the deepening of their relationship with God. Their anger did not lead them away from Him, but rather, it opened the door for a more honest and vulnerable form of faith. This is a reminder that our faith is not about having all the answers, but about being willing to ask the hard questions, to bring our pain to God, and to trust that he is still present, even when the world feels like it's falling apart. This kind of faith is not easy, but it is real. It requires us to sit with our anger, to let it flow without trying to control it, and to trust that God is still listening, even when we don't hear him. The kind of faith that allows us to be honest, to be vulnerable, and to be in the process of healing. And in that honesty, We find a kind of faith that is not about control but about trust. A trust that even in the darkest moments, God is still with us, still listening and still present. This is the kind of faith that allows us to bring our anger to God, not as a rejection of Him, but as a way of connecting with Him in the deepest parts of our being. And in that connection, we find a kind of faith that is real, that is raw, and that is deeply human. It's a faith that allows us to be honest with God, even when the words feel too heavy, even when the pain feels too deep. And in that honesty, we find a way to move forward, even when the road is unclear. This is where our faith is tested, not by the ease of our prayers, but by our willingness to pray even when we don't know what to say. And in that willingness, we find the strength to continue, to trust, and to believe that God is still with us, even when we feel alone. When we carry anger toward God, it's not just a personal struggle. It's something that can be shared, something that can be borne together. The weight of our pain is often too heavy to carry alone, and in the silence of our own hearts, we may feel like we're shouting into an empty void. But the truth is, we are never alone in our anger. There are others who have walked this path, who have felt the same sense of abandonment, the same frustration, the same longing for understanding, and in their stories, we find a kind of solidarity that can help us carry our own pain. The importance of community in processing anger toward God cannot be overstated. It's not just about having someone to listen, but about being part of a group that understands, that has walked through the same questions, and that has found a way to move forward, even when the path is unclear. In many of the biblical accounts we've explored,

Healing Through Community And Shared Struggle

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the individuals who wrestled with God were not alone in their struggle. They were part of a larger community, a people who shared in their pain and who were also seeking answers. For example, Job's friends, though they offered misguided advice, were part of a community that had its own questions about suffering and faith. They were not perfect, but they were present. Their presence, even if it was flawed, was part of the journey. Similarly, Elijah was not abandoned by God, but by his own people. His journey was not just one of personal faith, but also of being part of a people who were waiting for God to act. In these moments, the community becomes a place of both challenge and support, where we can be honest about our anger and also find strength in the shared experience of others. The role of community is especially important when we feel isolated in our anger. There are times when we feel like no one understands what we're going through, when the pain we carry seems too deep, too raw, to be shared. But in the presence of others who have also questioned God, who have also felt abandoned, we find a kind of relief. We can say, I feel this way, and not be judged for it. We can say, I don't understand, and not be told that we should. The community becomes a safe space where our anger is not only heard but also validated. It's a place where we can be honest about our pain, where we can be vulnerable without fear of rejection, and where we can find a sense of belonging in the midst of our struggle. This kind of community is not just found in the Bible, but in our own lives as well. There are churches, support groups, and fellow believers who have walked through similar pain and have found ways to move forward. They are not perfect, but they are real. They are people who have also felt the weight of unanswered prayers, who have also questioned God's silence, and who have also found a way to trust again. In their presence, we are reminded that our anger is not a sign of weakness, but a sign that we are still trying to connect with God. And in that connection, we find a kind of healing that can only happen when we are not alone. But community is not just about finding others who have been through the same pain. It's also about being willing to share our own pain, to be open and honest about our struggles, even when it feels uncomfortable. This is where the power of shared struggle lies. When we open our hearts to others, we give them the opportunity to see that they are not alone in their anger. We give them the chance to feel heard, to feel understood, and to know that their pain is not in vain. And in doing so, we also open ourselves to the possibility of healing, not just for ourselves, but for others as well. The act of sharing our anger becomes a form of prayer, a way of bringing our pain into the light and allowing it to be transformed through the presence of others. This is why the psalmists cry, How long, O Lord, will you turn away your face? It's so powerful. It's not just a personal lament, but a call to God that is echoed in the hearts of many. And in the presence of a community that shares in this cry, we find a way to carry it together. We are reminded that our anger is not a rejection of God, but an invitation for Him to meet us in the midst of our pain. And in that meeting, we find a kind of faith that is not about perfection, but about presence. It's a faith that allows us to be honest, to be vulnerable, and to be part of something larger than ourselves. As we move forward, let us remember that our anger toward God is not something to be hidden or suppressed. It is a part of our spiritual journey, a sign that we are still trying to connect with the divine. And in the presence of a community that shares in this journey, we find the strength to carry it, the courage to speak it, and the hope that, even in our pain, God is still with us. This is the power of shared struggle, the beauty of community, and the strength that comes from being honest with God and with one another. And in that honesty, we find a way to move forward, even when the path is unclear. We've explored the depth of anger toward God and how to move through it with faith. Remember, it's okay to feel this way, and there's strength in vulnerability. Anger is not a sign of weakness, but a sign that we are still trying to connect with God. It's a way of expressing the pain we carry, the questions we have, and the longing for understanding. And in that expression, we find a way to be honest, to be vulnerable, and to be part of something larger than ourselves. The journey through anger is not about finding immediate answers, but about finding the courage to speak, to share, and to be met by the presence of God in the midst of our struggle. So that is it for today's show, and thank you for staying with us till the end. If this show helped you or you got something out of it, and you believe it can help someone else, share it with them. We also have resources to check out on our website, thecompasscollective.nyc.

Closing Encouragement And Next Steps

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We look forward to the next time we get together. Remember, God has your back no matter what, so remember you are stronger than you think you are. God bless and see you at the next one.