So many people know what they want. They trod with confidence and presume they’re right. And I, ever playing defense attorney, listen to them, agree, and fight for their cause.
Everyone appears better off than I do. Even those who suffer. Victims sense that their pain is unjust, the circumstances are wrong, and they deserve better.
I’m anxious because I would change everything and everyone to make them happy. Odd this wish, seeking to improve things for people who already feel justified. Doesn’t the world owe them? Does it? Does God?
Prayers for others answered; for me, not so much. Lifelong suppression, waiting for fulfillment, for expectations to be met. Do those promises matter any longer? Have they expired? I can give up or press on. Let go or hang tough?
The realization dawns on me yet again that I am the one who most needs to change. Not others. Liberated for a while, my soul begins to dread my own laziness. I don’t want to do nothing; I want to do the right thing. But what?
Cutting through the swirl of a thousand worries, a hand reaches in, gentle but wounded. But wounded? Maybe because.
Scars can do that. His did.
“I know.”
I don’t question who spoke this. I know His voice. Rare, but recognizable; even familiar.
He’s been there. Rejected. Vindicated! Christ’s life is mine. The past hurts no more. Memories persist, but they bring no anguish. Sin is gone; death has lost its sting.
And so I pursue You. Lead, Lord Jesus, but stay within my sight.
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