Sunday, February 17, 2019

for mom english

There is no 
qualitative or quantitative measurement 
for pain. 
It is simply there-
sharp or dull, 
shooting or stabbing,
bearable or excruciating,
local or general.
It is unexplained, 
uninvited,
unavoidable.

I was not strong. 
I was not constant or confident.
But i had another much more 
dependable source of
security,
one guaranteed 
forever.

It is a merciful Father 
who strips us when 
we need stripped,
as the tree needs to be 
stripped of its 
blossoms.
He is not finished with us 
yet,
whatever the loss we suffer,
for as we loose our hold 
on invisible things,
the invisible becomes more 
precious-
where our treasure is, 
there will our 
hearts be.

On Suffering, by Elizabeth Elliott

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