I am found there on Calvary-day.
Inside: soul-flailing, protesting
Outside: salty liquid grief spilling from eyes looking up-ward,
cross-ward.
as Everything good I held to dies.
And there is promise of more,
but my shaken soul can't fathom what three days time will hold.
You have written Jeremiah-promises on my heart, tablets that read of hope and future, but my very human eyes are wholly engulfed by what is before me.
Death. Pain. End. Injustice.
Scorching Grief.
I am there now.
Different hill.
Different wounds-on-display.
Same sorry, small perspective.
Swallowed whole.
Unable to see that in mere hours...
the veil will be torn and
the rock will be moved.
Dear Heavenly Husband,
give me eyes to see
lifted veils and moving stones.
loan me endurance in suffering,
trade my sorrow-tears for
grateful-tears.
Because You have done.
And You will do.
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