Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed. —Isaiah 53
She sat curled on the bed, fortifying herself with blankets and pillows and the illusion of security. Honesty is a scary thing; she had to prepare herself for it.
The cry of the human heart: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Loneliness is the human condition; our inmost being craves to be known and loved at the same time. Honesty is the only thing that makes it possible to be known; yet honesty is the same thing that might destroy the love we so desperately crave.
“Sometimes,” she swallowed, “I’m not sure God is there anymore.”
She waited for the condemnation. When it did not come, she braced to speak more.
“But then, when I remember,” her voice broke, “That he knows my pain, I cannot bear it. I cannot fathom that kind of love. Maybe I don’t understand, but a God who could do that for me must be good. And a good God would never lie.”
In response to such love, what can one say? How can anyone ever fathom it? There is no answer, no answer except for a question: