“He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.” – Psalm 147:3
Nothing is capable of conveying the craving of my soul more than this passage of scripture.
Stygian darkness surrounds me, as though I am in an obsidian expanse. I roam without the knowledge of where I am going, my bare feet sinking into sand. I cannot see anything in front of me. I am acutely aware of the sensation of the vicious assault of heat beating down upon me. My brow is utterly saturated with sweat. My throat has been seized by the cruel clutches of dehydration, leaving it barren.
A voice like rushing water reverberates in the expanse. I can make out the words of this voice, which are like sweet music to my soul. They have said, “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.” Radiant light abruptly floods the void, as though pouring through a fracture in some barrier that previously prevented its entry. My thirst is quenched.
It is as though this passage has been written for me. I can only see it as the words of infinite love, like some one who cares a great deal for me and knew of all my hurt wrote this down specifically with all of my pain in mind. The writer of these words is some one whom I know as a friend. One to whom I may cast all of my hurt and pain on. I know that I cannot burden or weary him. He always shows me sympathy when others will not.
Tears have been my daily bread. This has lead to a swift descent into a pit of despair. Misery has waged a ruthless conquest upon me. It seemed as though there was no hope of deliverance from the brutal grip of heartache. Sorrow overpowers me like a force much stronger than I. I have tried to fight alone, but the battle is comparable to lifting that which is too heavy for me.
I am seated alone. With my head bowed down, I stare at concrete. I hear the thump of footsteps all around as the masses pass me by. I am surrounded by the noise of hundreds of voices. Tears have blinded my eyes, so that I may not see either them or my surroundings. I weep aloud, but not one of them stops to so much as ask what is wrong. Multitudes move past me as though unconscious of my presence. Truly they are aware but they do not care. The noise of my weeping is incapable of arousing the slightest compassion in them. Their actions can only be described as a callous indifference to my pain.
I am then cognizant of some one next to me. They put their arm around me. Their hand wraps around mine in an effort to comfort me. I can hear their voice whispered into my ears. This person says to me, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.” These words soothe the sorrow by which I have been overwhelmed. It is like they are the treatment of a deep wound. I know the one who whispers them into my ears. His name is Jesus, and he is my Lord.
It has been said that at the last day God will wipe away all tears. I am here to say that he will also wipe away my tears today. God is my healer. He is my best friend.