Pain is a thief that robs my comfort, and reaches eagerly for my hope, but I refuse to let him take it away. There is such a struggle. I yell, "Stop! Thief!" but I am so alone. So alone with all these people.
Everything looks bleak, and nothing sounds so good as leaving everything behind and going home. but going to a home that no longer even exists, a home where I am a child again, and I have friends and family to laugh with, a place where I can run around with Nerf guns and watch cartoons and bike to the park and float homemade boats down the river.
I hurt. Is it selfish to say that?
I watched this survival show on TV. This guy is in a desert and he desperately needs to find water to survive. He finds this valley, and at the bottom of it is water. but it's stagnant and full of dead animals and filth, he'd be better off without it. and though he's in the middle of one of the hottest deserts on the planet, the water is below freezing. So he works his way down into this canyon, and now he needs to find his way out. but the walls are so steep, and he is all alone.
Why is it that in the the lowest trenches of our darkest valleys we begin to see our failures and faults even more clearly. The ice cold sludge of who we really are sloshes around our shivering bodies and we long for the warmth of the sun.
I can never return to the comforting home of my childhood (even if I could, it would be selfish to do so), and even though the warmth of the sun seems nothing but a dream, I am not alone.
I don't think there is anything quite as astonishingly beautiful as these two things; a person who willingly enters into the valley just to walk through it all with the wanderer. Second is that the Creator of the wanderer and of the valley leads the way, revealing truth as they go.
Pain steals my comfort, and he can have it. But he can't take my hope, because I know I am loved, and that one day, I will feel the sun once again.