Sylvancreature

 

I saw him looking down last Sunday – and I could tell things were not right.  Sitting in the back row.  Quiet. 

 

We chatted and . . . . .

 

 

. . . . . .  and I could hear it.   I could see it.  That quiet, small pain – the pain that says “sit with me” it asks no more.  It does not want words, it does not want sympathy – it just wants presence.

 

Just shared quiet, just a someone there.

 

 

 

Not a time for words.

 

So I smiled, and pretended not to see the small flicker – I made small talk and went my way.

Asking is . . . . so messy, loving is . . . . inconvenient at times.

 

 

And it tugged at my heart.

 

and I ignored it.

 

 

 

 

 

It wanted to keep me up, but I slept – better than I care to admit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But in the morning the thought presented itself again.

 

 

And I promptly quelled it.

 

 

 

 

Till this morning.

When I saw him again, and I knew – I could no longer pretend I did not see what I had wanted to hope I saw.  The clues were there. 

 

 

And this time we talked, we shared some silence, he talked and I listened. 

 

 

We cried together. 

We prayed together. 

 

 

 

 

We sat on the old pew in my kitchen the kitten played with our shoestrings.

 

And I want to tell you this.

 

Dare to ask, to listen, and to love.

 

 

 

 

Dare to care, to care about the people God places near you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To listen and to exhort. 

 

To stay up late and do life.

 

 

What a good hard thing it is to be broken.

What a good hard thing it is to see a brother broken.

What a better thing it is to see a brother seeking out the only one who can help him.

 

 

Read Duetromeny 8, and understand why God take those He loves to the desert.

Read Psalm 13 and understand that God is good, even in this – whatever your this maybe.

 

Do not let your pain and brokenness be wasted.

 

Read Psalm 51.

 

 

 

And lean into the only One who can help.