Father what do you see?

You could not bear what I see, what I know. But I stand here, amidst the rubble, putting together hearts that fear they will surely break.

I repair.

I stand amidst the rubble, the crying out, the suffering. I stand amidst the sweeping piles of things that were homes–places where my children laid their heads, where they felt safe, where they felt today would be a good day.

I stand in the middle of the hard places, of the moments where pain swallows all hope. I came and know what pain is, what sorrow and devastation look and feel like.

And I stand here, amidst the pain and the mess and the uncertainty about which way next to turn. I stand amidst broken dreams and lives upended. I stand here.

Now watch–watch how the upside down will be righted. Look, with Me . . how the pain will be washed away. Look how the children come and help, courageously, knowing I go before. I am here.

You are not alone. I am here. I stand.

Know that I stand and my heart splits wide again as my children cry out, ‘God, where are you?’ Know, I stand, when the winds wail and my children flee and all is vulnerable. All is capable of breaking and not being repaired.

Until I come. I will come.

And you will see Me. . . in the arms wrapped ’round, in the reaching in to grasp and save, in the tears and the sweat and the going back to work, and back again, even though it is hard, even though the needs feel too great, the mess too big.

I am here. I stand.

I do not cower in this place. Lift up your heads to see Me. My weary ones, my tired children who run scattered, come. Let me gather you up. Let me wipe away your tears. Let me shoulder this burden. Let me be your strong place, your hope.

Call out.

I hear you.

I stand.

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