And I entreat Him again using countless cliche complaints:
When will the pain float on?
Will there be another day without the groaning, aching, and ripping plaguing my every posture?
Please take it away; will you not take this cup from me soon?
You have promised to end the hurting; when will that day come?
He answers with characteristic immutability:
I won’t say when, but the day will come. I promise. It is the same day that I have promised to the young mothers in Uganda, Brazil, Brooklyn. You’ll share that day with the sufferers in Syria. That is the day when prisoners will be released and returned to their families. That’s the day when the needs of children with bellies bloated from hunger will finally be met. The kids who sniff glue, the men who worked day and night just to watch their first born commit suicide, the women whose hair was stolen by cancer; all await that day. The planet earth groans in its’ impatience for the time to come.
You are selfish in thinking that you alone know pain.
Hallelujah, there is hope.
My heart overflows with gladness.
Come, Lord Jesus.