When the enemy rails against the very goodness of your soul. When the grasp you thought was firm is shaken loose. When your teeth rattle and feel like the jarring is tearing them apart. That's when a whisper. Just a whisper of hope in the name of Jesus is uttered.
The charge was not caring. Not caring if the pain was too much. Not caring if the journey makes for weary bones. Made me stop for sure. Did I care? Did I care that the depths of her soul were ripping. Did I care that the depth of her pain seemed unreachable? At what cost does a person lend their own selves to the assistance of others. At which point do we protect and guard our souls against the pain others are feeling?
It's risky. The caring for others. The risk of injury. Injury to the soul.
Dealing with injured souls requires insite. Insite that at times comes from the depths of your own journey. Your own pain. Comes in broken prayers when the unseen pain brings all sensory to the skin in a mass of feeling pushing it's way to get out by any avenue possible.
But He sees all. No detail left undone. The teacher close by. Cell service where there should be none. A cry for help from the professional equipped to assist--heard. Those He sent by sheer "coincidence". I know He holds my hand. And when I stop and breathe deep I smell the sweetness of His aroma. A hint of love, grace and mercy mixed with the tenderness of the one who has known me since the time I was fearfully and wonderfully made in His image.
So I'll stand upon the promises so explicitly laid out for us in His word. Move forward and not be discouraged for He is with me.
The body is weary. Oh so weary on this day but with a knowing that this too shall pass.
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