We talk while our heads rest upon pillows. The conversation centers on our lives before we were us, a Mr. and Mrs.
We share how we could not imagine then the life we live now. Evening’s crisp air dances through the window, keeping us present in this now. Our eyes meet and we smile; he holds my hand and I squeeze tight. A knowing glance and gentle touch has a way of making the present real, of ensuring you’re awake and not dreaming.
There is a gratitude that penetrates a heart deeply when a prayer is answered, deeper still when the answered prayer was never voiced because surviving consumed all energy and nothing was left for hope. And we marvel as we realize He answered our un-prayed prayers; bestowed desires we feared to utter.
Some moments in life seem beyond repair, leave us unsure of our need. Answers and fixes feel beyond our grasp. Our hopelessness leaves us mute.
When wholeness and joy replace brokenness and despair it’s simple to forget the journey, the time in between then and now, the place many still travel. And my hand aches to squeeze theirs, to squeeze some hope right into that heart that cannot pray, to squeeze some pieces back together again.
This ache comes from One who is a Healer, a Redeemer, the Fixer of broken things, even shattered hearts. The Maker of beauty and Liberator of captives. And the words of Isaiah swell:
The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.
Remembering the time before now, the time hope seeped out through the cracks in my broken heart, keeps me tender and humble. It keeps me aware that the hurting are often quiet. It stirs the knowing that the prayers they cannot pray may need to be prayed by me, by us.
A peaceful gratitude fills our conversation as this knowing surfaces. When we were too broken to pray, others prayed on our behalf. Their wholeness ached to squeeze some hope right into our hearts that couldn’t pray. And the love of the Father anoints his children to voice the silent prayers of their hurting brothers and sisters.
Our freedom, our wholeness, our wrong made right, propels us and anoints us to squeeze some hope right into that quiet, hurting heart of one near us. We are positioned to pray the prayer they cannot utter, pray it with a faith that is ignited by love.
He is still holding my hand. I squeeze his one more time and he squeezes back. The good we receive is meant to be shared, be multiplied to others. And we pray for the hurting, those finding it too hard to pray tonight, and we turn off the light.