When Rocks Cry Out: A Letter

When Rocks Cry Out: A Letter

We’ve been cleaning up the house, and we keep finding old, hand-drawn pictures and letters, so I looked up a couple of pictures on my phone.

I showed the pictures to my Mom, but she didn’t want to look at more than one.  She just handed back my phone.  So I curled my soul up around them, and looked at your smiling faces, and was glad you were at least still alive.  At least one of you almost wasn’t (nobody told me, but I knew in my gut what had happened).

It still twists in my chest, some days.  Fire is not just light – it burns and destroys too.  So I go from beautiful moment and joy to hearing people’s brokenness, their darkest secrets that they pour out to me and I don’t know why, and I have to fight to lift up my hands and let go of my burdens.  It feels like even the rocks cry out, groaning under so much shed blood and spirit.  When my eyes get heavy, I have often forgotten the crucible of the story – that Christ died the deaths of thousands in one life, and that He carries my load.  But this still feels like a thousand small deaths, even after so many years.

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