Just the word makes the muscles in my back twinge with regret, even fear, about the things which have caused me to be . . . and to leave others . . . so empty.
Makes me think of a God who says He is jealous, but never comes running into dark closets where children are abused; never busts through the door of children’s hospitals where so many lay dying; never appears and shakes the shoulders of an adulterer leaving his family . . . his children . . . empty.
Brings me to my knees at the bottom of an echoing, tin bucket, rusty patches rising to scrape and cut into the fragile flesh of one dying at once to understand and run from the One who says He holds the answers.
And the fullness.
So much depends on a tin bucket leaking rainwater all over the white dreams of hope in the hearts of enfeebled shadows wandering the earth.
Until, in the emptiness, I see the only place to look is up.
The only hope is beyond the smothering blanket of emptiness.
The only strength is in the outstretched hand of the Savior, longing to fill me up even when I feel nauseous from the emptiness clanging in my gut.
And when I reach back . . .
I am full.
“I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,
My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.”
~2 Corinthians 12:8-10, The Message version