Healing Hands

I am so tired. I am in so much pain. My body is exhausted. My energy is gone. Waking up in the morning is a battle that I barely win. My mind is clouded. Focusing on anything takes all of my strength. Sleep is stolen by the pain. 

I am so blessed. I live each day. I see the sky. The light shines through the clouds. The rain falls from the heavens. I receive strength to endure each moment. I am given time to do all that needs doing. Peace comes to wipe away my tears. 

It is HIM. My Healer. My Comforter. My Friend. 

Jesus Christ. 

He loves me. He gives me life each day. He opens my eyes to see the sky. He is the light that shines through the trials. He is the rain that reminds me of God's love. He is my Strength to endure each moment. He gives me time to do all that needs doing. He is the Peace that wipes away my tears. 

He is my Savior. 

I love Him. But He loves me more. 

He suffered for me. All my sins. All my pains. All my sicknesses. All my infirmities. He knows it all. He FELT it all. In the Garden of Gethsemane and again on the cross. 

Because He loves me. 

Why would He feel all of those horrible things only to stand by and watch me shake amidst the fierce winds and stumble in the flood of trials. 

He didn't, and He won't. He is always there. Always waiting. Always willing. He offers me his hands. His healing. The scarred hands that heal the "wounded soul and bind up the broken-hearted." 

His Healing Hands reach out to me. His gentle voice whispers, "Come unto me." 

I lift my head. Sarada. I look up. My trembling hand reaches out. 

His fingers close around mine. His peace encircles me. 

I am going to be ok.