Suffering

When I'm in the thick of it, I'm sweating blood, and tears are my constant companion, what does my heart cry out?

Do you hear me?

Does my suffering matter to you?

What is the point?

And the answer is this: I love you, and I am with you.

I want to shirk off that answer like it's just not enough. I want to despise it, and like a stubborn ass, I want to resist. Beat my chest and say: fuck off. Do you know the pain I'm in?

In my tremors, I want to hurl the world on itself. I want answers now! What treasure can I possibly gain from suffering?

I'm no martyr.

How do you explain that it's a matter of faith when faith is not a good enough reason?

I hurt, but my Lord is with me. I will very likely hurt again. But there is a miraculous grace that promises to uphold my heart, to keep my fainting heart from surrendering its beat.