Oh God, You send me these trials, to me, a poor lost soul, who can barely cope with the days without trial. I feel so humbled, so abased, I can’t hold my head up anymore. The world attacks me, it rends my soul. How long do I have to suffer this pain? And though You send me little signs to show me You are there, alas, like the apostles, who witnessed miracle after miracle, saw with their eyes and heard with their ears, and yet still doubted when You left them, I too doubt and despair that maybe You are not cradling me in Your arms and watching over me during this storm.
The world mocks me, my Lord; they show scorn to me because I don’t belong to them anymore. I feel the wounds of injustice, yet I cling to the hope that You will yet redeem me. Yet how long must I endure? I am not like the great ones, the great prophets and great men of God of old. I am just a modern day sinner with little or nothing to offer You.
Ah, the inner voice grows quiet; there is no internal guidance. I grope fearfully to hold on to the day, to bring myself through. The emotional pain turns physical as it tears at my flesh and weakens my bones. I feel as though a thousand fiery darts pelt my skin every waking hour. I relive your crucifixion; the knowledge of this blinds me...You are so precious, Lord, I love You heart and soul, these trials notwithstanding.
Ironically, it is in this time that I begin to understand Your love for me. As I love my own and yet feel betrayed by those who are to love me, I understand Your fatherly love for me, and how I pain you through my shortcomings. Forgive me, Lord, forgive me.
The inner voice remains still; yet I know these trials could not have been orchestrated by any but You, Father, and that such was done for the sake of my spiritual growth. Nothing but my faith tells me this. Nothing. Though the enemy taunt me with “Thou blind fool,” yet I hold fast to my convictions. I fight to keep my head focused on the prize, the goal of winning You. As Job cried out, “Though you slay me, yet will I trust You,” I now cry out in unison with him. Hear me, good Lord, hear me.
As I recline my head and bend my ear, out of the whirlwind of chaos, the inner voice stirs: “My child, my dear precious child. I am here with you, do not despair. I will never leave you, nor forsake you. You have been chosen for great things—thus your trials, which serve only to prepare your way. Be still and know that I am God.”
The inner voice quiets and I breathe a short sigh of momentary relief. I gird my sword and my helmet and prepare to begin my way through the thicket of woe which assails me on all sides. Though I have been daunted, I am comforted that wherever I go, the Lord goes first to make the way navigable.
