I really did not want to write yesterday. I was in a foul, rotten, grumpy mood that started Monday morning and picked up speed until, by late Wednesday morning, I was a full-blown self-pitying ogre.
It happens to all of us. I am particularly inclined to turn into the self-pitying/self-loathing (because they do go together, don’t they) breed of ogre.
Tired of inhabiting that grotesque form (the satisfaction that comes from being an ogre wears thin quickly), I made one half-hearted effort of un-ogreness.
And God spoke to me through someone, and told me exactly what I needed to hear.
I’m not an ogre, I’m his daughter. And even when I fume and fester for three days on end, he is still ready to welcome me into his arms, because I’m still beloved to him. What a great Dad.
I felt like a little girl who’s had a fantastic temper tantrum and finally gives in, tired, relieved, into her Dad’s embrace. And that is what “The Oozy Ogre” is about.