“This isn’t fair,” I whisper, snuggling a little closer into His embrace and wincing as the pain discovers a new muscle to befriend.
I feel His heartbeat and His voice is soft, “I know, precious one.” I know we were never promised fair, we were promised faithful but right now, it’s fairness I want. “Don’t you see how it hurts me? I didn’t make you to be wracked by pain.”
I ask Him why He’s letting me go through it then and He smiles sadly and reminds me that we humans chose this path. We were the ones who decided we could do a better job than Him.
“You could still take it away now,” I say, a trifle petulantly. He made Lazarus walk from his grave, I point out and remind Him of Jarius’ daughter for good measure. He smiles again and highlights the lessons already learned, the compassion discovered, the humility worked on, the over-independence crushed. He does have a point.
“Are you going to waste this time sulking?” He asks and I feel a trifle guilty and shake my head. “Good,” He says. “I’ve got work for you.”
I glare just a little at Him. “I was doing Your work before,” I say. “Work that I can’t do now. I’ve become a walking wounded dead weight in Your army, Lord.”
I think He wants to shake me but doesn’t because I’m shifting, trying to find a more comfortable – or less painful – position. “There are others dealing with more unfairness than you,” He says, His voice slightly reproving. I know He’s right and stop moving and listen. “I want you to do something different for a bit. It’s not what you want but it’s what you need. If I gave you your miracle now, you’d waste it – you’d be back here within a month. I want you to learn a new fighting technique, child.”
Looking at Him, the face angels bow before and yet I can gaze at. Looking at His love, pouring over me. Looking at His patience in using a stubborn child like myself.
The resentment fades.
I nod slowly.
“Ok, Papa, I’ll learn the new fighting technique. Please will You show me?”