Therefore, what this truth of this Scripture does is center me. Gives me a rock to stand on in the midst of the torrent of emotions that can make me more spiritually and mentally vulnerable than I’d care to admit… I’m praying there will be an eternally stabilizing recognition, that because of Jesus, we have this heavenly glory to look forward to.
To my dear afflicted Saint,
I write this with tears that have been recently mixed with emotional pain and grief. I know what it feels like to have people text, email, and call you, and still receive no comfort. I mean, it’s nice to know that people are thinking and praying for you. But the words, “I’m praying for you” only seems to ricochet off your soul. And even though you know those that reach out to you desire the best for you, the stone gargoyles of sadness and despair stand heavy upon your shoulders, seemingly scaring away any help or encouragement.
Please know that I am grieving with you. I’ve felt the silent waves that crash ruthlessly against your souls without warning. I’ve experienced the undetectable weight that sinks your heart deeper into the cold depths of confusion when an unexplainable tragedy strikes. And I have met the ugly darkness and helplessness that accompanies them. And sometimes, it seems that the darkness shuts us in, and restricts any light we might receive from God’s word.
Of course, we can know that God mysteriously anchors us in ways that we are not aware of, even now. And deep, deep down we might understand that God loves us, and sovereignly cares for us in every circumstance and trial. But right now, it doesn’t feel that way. Right now, that truth doesn’t comfort like it used to. It might even anger you. It might further depress you. Or it might just make you cry harder, while you writhe in desperation, just hoping to find some relief, though none comes at the moment. I know. Trust me, I know.