My arms around myself bring no comfort to me as I wail from the deepest part of my gut.
Powerless to erase the pain that life has brought, I cry anguished tears. And I wonder how far the pain can go until it destroys me. Until it turns into death.
And the wailing goes on, and the wound oozes puss.
Helpless on my own in the face of agony, I drop to my knees and call out to God. “Have mercy on me. Come! Heal! Be God to me now.”
And I remember.
His anguish in the garden.
Alone. Forsaken. Despised.
His torment on the cross.
Ridiculed. Mocked. Weighed down.
His wailing for me. His wailing for me.
His resurrected body that shouted victory!
Empowered to speak, I look in the mirror and speak truth to myself.
He breathes His Word in me and I trade.
My wailing for His life.
My sorrow for His joy.
My wound for His Grace.
Counting one Thousand Gifts with Ann Voskamp
#2: His wailing for me
#1: the realization that my body is a blessing to me, no matter how I see it.