Trust in the Darkness

How many times do we read in Scriptures, “the Lord is close to the broken-hearted”, or “The Lord hears the cry of the poor”? Noble words indeed, but in times of trial the last place the Lord seems to be is close. In these places, where do we go? What do we do? Is it wrong to feel that the Lord is nowhere to be found? Is it wrong to feel bereft, angry or numb? Is it wrong to rage at God? When my family was hit by illness I often felt him to be miles away

If we read the psalms, we realise that this not unusual. David cried his heart out to God, no matter his circumstances, the psalms speak of rejoicing, trial, suffering, victory and defeat. David was also conscious of his sinfulness and consequences. When he lost his son to Bathseba, he was honest enough to admit his infidelity and move on.

I decided, after experiencing the trials and anguish of watching all family illnesses pile up like a crash, that all I could do was hang on, it didn’t matter, in the end, whether I felt God was close, all that mattered was He was. No matter how I feel, the Lord is always there, emotions come and go, but He is always close. That’s all we have to remember, just trust and, step-by-step, move forward.

Come, Wounded One

This poem was written when something very rare happened. I came to a decision, and Father David’s sermon echoed both my decision and the reason I took it. I swear he was telepathic when he wrote that homily.

I have struggled almost daily in the past nine years, trying to readjust to all the events, and work out how to carry on. Sometimes, I feel nothing has changed, but when I do, I am running from the truth.

Those events fundamentally changed me, the pain of watching others suffer wounded me. I am more shattered and broken than I ever imagined I could be. What I have to try and do, and this will take the rest of my life, is accept that I’m not the same. I need to accept my woundedness and brokenness and learn to move on through life. For the wounds and brokenness are painful, but not fatal, and I will survive and learn and grow, as I did before

So, without any further ado, here is the poem

Come, Wounded One

Come, wounded one,
Let me heal you,
Let my love seduce you
Lead you to a quiet place
To make you whole

The world
Wounds you
With a thousand
Tiny cuts
Each one
Than the last

Do you know
Your beauty shines
My heart rejoices
In you
My child

When the world
Works its way
Into a weary heart
Remember I am
And who you are

Nothing else
Need concern you
Come away
And rest
In me
And we will be