As a father has compassion on his children,
so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;
for He knows how we are formed,
He remembers that we are dust
There is this particular kind pain – of not fulfilling the others’ expectations.
How many times do I project on God the groan of disappointment over myself. And obviously nobody would like to hear: “I expected you’d do better than this”. In all my considerations of “what would have happened, had I…”, I rehearse the fear that I failed. Worse, I can feel it coming again. Failure is there, waiting round the corner, and it shows up between all the good things that we manage to accomplish in between.
But He never fails to come to our aid in our weakness. He takes the bruised and scratched child into His arms, the child who wanted to tell Him something very important, but stumbled and fell, went into the stinging nettles, simply didn’t make it.
It’s so great that the end of my power only marks the begining of His.
Categorised in: Margaret