Deep is the valley of your present sorrow, and the numbness of your flesh is but a shadow of that deeper numbness which has crept over your spirit. The weeping, the cry that life is no longer worth the living, this is the language of a broken heart. There are many forms of broken hearts, some naturally broken by pain and weakness, and some spiritually broken by a sense of desertion. Your bleeding spirit cries for consolation, and I would point you to Him of whom it is written, “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”
You say within yourself, “Our bones are dried.” That is a true word, for our own strength is altogether dried up, and in ourselves we are as helpless as scattered dust. But you are tempted to add another word which is not true: “Our hope is lost.” That is an evil word, going beyond the truth, for God Himself is your hope, and He is not lost. Though you feel dead and divided, the Lord speaks a gracious word over such dry bones: “Behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves.” He is the God of resurrection, and no grave of despair can hold those whom He calls to life.
Do not continue in that weary search for hope where there is no hope. The poor worldling wearies himself in the length of his way, finding nothing but the life of his hand, living from hand to mouth on present comforts, yet never satisfied. But for the child of God, the promise stands fresh every morning: “Fear not, I am with you.” You need no vision of the night; you have the more sure Word of prophecy. Take it, read it, and believe that Christ speaks to you now, just as He did to Paul, “Fear not, I am with you.” When you faint, lean hard upon that arm which never fails.
You are not called to do this in your own strength. Hear the apostle’s boast, and make it your own: “I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me.” It is no impudent presumption; it is the humble reliance of a soul made strong by its Master. What you cannot do by natural power, care for your children, rise out of this heavy depression, even desire to live, you shall do through Christ, who pours His power into empty vessels.
Think of the lengths to which divine love will go for the undeserving. I was struck by a story of a woman whose husband abandoned her for forty years, yet when he returned in sickness and poverty, she welcomed him, nursed him, and wore herself out caring for him. Yet that is but a faint picture of God’s love to you. He feeds you, supplies your every need, and waits to be gracious. If you have wandered far, return; He will receive you with joy.
The leaves of the Tree of Life are for the healing of the nations. There is a leaf for your paresthesia, a leaf for your broken nerves, a leaf for your weeping heart. In the heavenly Paradise that tree is more accessible than ever was the tree in Eden. By faith, reach out and pluck its healing. And while you wait for the full cure below, know that Christ has consented to be bound that you might be freed. He wore the fetters that you might have liberty. Look to Him, and though your bones are dried, hope in Him, for He will yet make you to know that He is the Lord when He has brought you up out of your grave and established you in the land of the living. Let the prayer of the saints rise for you, and join your own cry to theirs, that He who is mighty might do great things for you, and that your tongue, now so heavy with grief, may soon sing aloud of His goodness.
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