I ask for a blessing...
For those who saw it coming,
and those who were so shocked.
For those whose hands hold emptiness
and who feel piles of sand around their feet.
For those who felt God's presence in their loved one's final moments,
and for those who were so certain of God's healing, they felt desperately alone as they said goodbye~to their person and their hope for a miracle.
For the doctors, nurses, medical workers who are accused of putting science over God all of the time,
and who are also the medical hands that receive the bodies of the accusers when those who hurled insults are now sick.
For the doctors that deliver news of life expectancy,
and for the hearers of that news.
For the hearts that consider all the decisions leading to here,
and replay each one on repeat.
To this open, gaping, wound of here.
With ocean waves of disease, racism, religion, knocking us all down again and again and again.
It's in the falling we recognize we have no control.
It's in the water we recognize breath isn't ours to give.
It's in the broken shells we learn God isn't our personal genie.
It's in the sand we recognize our fragility.
It's in the next wave we understand this rhythm.
It's in Jesus' death, His unanswered cries, we learn cruelty.
It's in our weeping, our pleading, that a soft voice of our Savior pierces through us and asks "Whom are you seeking?"
That is when we realize miracles almost never look like we anticipated.
For this too, we grieve.
Matthew 5:4
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