*special message at the end
I will go before you
And make the crooked places straight;
I will break in pieces the gates of bronze
And cut the bars of iron.
I will give you the treasures of darkness
And hidden riches of secret places,
That you may know that I, the LORD,
Who call you by your name, Am the God of Israel.
For Jacob My servant’s sake, And Israel My elect,
I have even called you by your name;
I have named you, though you have not known Me.
I am the LORD, and there is no other;
There is no God besides Me.
I will gird you, though you have not known Me.
(Isaiah 45:2-5)
Sparrows flutter, falling
And the King of Heaven sees.—Luna
T |
he little girl trembled. Her teeth chattered as she lay curled in midnight, curled in mud. Tiny stars eddied through squeezed, tear-stained lashes. “What are you asking of me? I can’t do this, you know I can’t!” She opened her eyes to meet the gaze of smothering darkness, and choked on its bitterness. “I tried to be good,” she whimpered, clutching at her flesh as though tearing away ugliness. “You said if I did what you asked, you would love me!” But once again, she’d failed. And once again, she crumpled—alone, unwanted, ashamed, abandoned.
“Abba,” she whispered. Hot tears carved paths down her cheeks. “Abba—” Her clammy fingers wrapped around her arms in a feeble attempt to ward off sinister, sticky cold. “Where are you?” Sobs escaped her lips as her hands groped in darkness, finding nothing. Yet she knew, somehow, that she must keep going for it was a matter of life or death.
She pushed herself up, up, shuddering, out of the dank soil, and inched her foot ahead. Her way unfolded with step by agonizing step, breath by labored breath. Weariness filled her flesh. “I want my mother,” she mourned, yearning for the comfort and warmth which lay distantly in memory. “I can’t do this anymore! I must to stop now!”