Broken on the Wheels of Living

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Without your wound where would your power be?
It is your very remorse that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men.
The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth
as can one human being broken on the wheels of living.

In love’s service, only the wounded soldiers can serve.
~Thornton Wilder from “The Angel That Troubled the Waters

 

We wound and are wounded in ways seen and unseen,
not always regretful at the hurts we cause,
ever sorrowful for the hurts we bear,
living broken, churning through our days.

The wheel keeps turning, stirring up troubled waters.
Evening to morning, morning to darkness,
a healing angel
extends a hand
and invites us to get our feet wet.

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Awaiting His Arrival: From Doubt to Assurance

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Matthias Stomer’s Annunciation

 

Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this?
Luke 1:18

“How will this be?” Mary asked the angel
Luke 1:34

Zechariah asks:
How can I be sure?
How can I trust this is true even when it doesn’t make sense in my every day world?
How can I trust God to accomplish this?

These are not the questions to be asked;
he was struck mute, speechless until immersed in the miracle of impossibility
and only then assured by the Lord and released from silence, he sang loudly with praise.

Instead, we are to ask, like Mary:
How can this be?
How am I worthy?
How am I to be confident within incomprehensibility and calm in the midst of mystery?
How am I to be different as a result?

It is when we are most naked,
at our very emptiest,
that we are clothed and filled with God’s glorious assurance.
We do not need to be sure
to accept what He asks of us.
We just need to be.
Changed.

 

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality.
With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season

Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles.
The wait’s begun again,
The long wait for the angel.
For that rare, random descent.
~Sylvia Plath from “Black Rook in Rainy Weather”