“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18
Lord Jesus, we’ll never experience a wounding greater than the promise of your healing. None of our traumas in life—and the combined impact of them all, happen outside the domain of your knowing, ruling, and caring. That is both comforting and confusing. But it’s way more comforting than the thought of living life in a world in which happenstance has more control and power than providence.
Nothing would be more traumatic than to think of you passively watching us from afar—unmoved and powerless to do anything about our losses, betrayals, abuses, and harming’s. You are near the brokenhearted—you don’t promise we won’t get our hearts broken or have our spirits crushed in our journey Home. Jesus, I’d rather have your nearness than a life of never getting hurt. I’d rather live in the paradox of Joseph’s words to his brothers—“What you meant for evil, God meant for good” (Gen.50:20)—than to think evil is more sovereign than you—the eternal King of heaven and earth.
That the question most repeated in the Bible is, “How long, Oh Lord?”—actually consoles us. We join centuries of your daughters and sons honest about our today’s traumas, and equally grateful about our forever’s glories. Jacob didn’t get over his limp (Gen. 32)—and didn’t wear a sweatshirt with a big “V” for victim on it. Paul lived with his “thorn in the flesh” until his last breath (2 Cor.12)—and saw it more as a gift than an excuse. And Jesus, gracious loving Lord … throughout eternity we will look with wonder at the scars on your hands and side—the price of your costly love (Jn.20:27). Thank you.
Jesus, in the coming days, be super near to me, as I do some fresh heart-work on the backlog of traumas I carry. I’ve denied, danced-around, explained, and spiritualized things for which you have crafted particular grace. I don’t mind limping, but I’m done with minimizing, weaponizing, and pretending. Hallelujah, and So Very Amen.