Comfort

His arms all but strangle me in their fierce grasp.  His tears and sweat smear my cheek.  I can barely hear the shuddering words.  There's nothing I can do but hold him tight and soak it up, absorb a bit of it into my own heart.  I can't fix it or make it go away.

I know one who will seldom be comforted, one that fights and resists the pain.  Attempts at comforting can easily provoke a snarl or even porcupine quills.  It's as though compassion will draw the pain to the surface where it can be felt--and this must be avoided at all costs.

I've been like that.  Refusing comfort, raging against the ache.  Shaking raised fist in refusal.  Trying to make it go away in all the wrong ways.

This fierce resistance is often perceived as strength while the shuddering sobs are seen as weakness...

My kids are memorizing the Beatitudes.

Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted...

Hardly the stuff of our heroes.  Once again, the inside-out-upside-down way that's counter-intuitive leads to wholeness.

Mourn.  Be comforted.

Raging against the pain won't make it better, won't make it go away...

Throw yourself into the arms of Papa, pour it all out...and soak up the comfort.

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4a

Matthew 5:3-10