Dad. Fix it.
Please.
A prayer I’ve been praying all month.
I see the brokenness all around me, throughout this country and in the hearts of my little friends, and I ask Him, through the tears, to fix it.
I see the brokenness in me, the heartache, and I beg Him, time and time again, to fix it.
I know, without a doubt, He could snap His fingers and take it away.
But He chooses not to. Why?
In my heart, I know I’ll never understand. He chooses to build His Kingdom through us, His Church. He chooses to bring healing and wholeness through us by His Spirit. But why?
“We live in a fallen world.”
“Give it to God”
“We need to rely on Him alone.”
I get it. I’ve said it. A thousand times. But those blanket statements, said without empathy, just add to the hurt.
A discussion amongst my friends these days is the healthiness of missions- if going to these places, opening up and allowing my heart to be broken time and time again is actually a good thing. How can something that hurts this badly be good?
Wouldn’t it have been healthier for me to keep my walls, keep my calloused heart, and go through life relatively unscathed?
“It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”
Is it?
Really?
How is this “better?”
Forgive me, but right now, it feels awful.
I would usually force an upswing ending to this rant but today I can’t. I don’t want to slap on “joy and sunshine” to the end of this because, right now, I can’t see it.
But, Father, I know joy is coming…. and I will choose to hold onto that glimmer of hope.
