Sunday, January 26, 2014

Psalm 22: A Pictorial Essay

In my desperation, I feel forgotten by God.  If God saw me, if He saw my plight, He would be there, He would deliver me.  My God is love, my God is merciful.  Where is His mercy?  I don't even remember what it looks like.

In the end, I know that I have been forsaken by God because of my own sin, my own preoccupation with self, my own weakness.  How can the Almighty rest with such a weak man? Why should He even look at me?  
I know this because there are many at my shoulder reminding me of my humanity, of my sin.  They mock me because they know how distant I am from God. I can't argue with them, honestly.

I am at the end of myself.  There is nothing left of me.  Nothing else for me to give.  Nothing for me to love with, nothing left for me to act with. I am destitute, the funeral is over and I am desolate in my grave.

Somehow, beyond the end, after the story is over, the credits have rolled, He appears.  It turns out He hasn't forgotten me after all. He listened, and He acts for me.

Thank you, thank you.  You looked at my weakness and didn't hate me.  You saw my pathetic nature and lifted me up from the grave. I swear, all shall hear of Your deliverance for me.

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