The phone rings just as my teabag hits the hot water to steep. I answer and hear weeping. There's a gash on her heart. She explains the pain. The reality seems more than any human should bear.
I am left speechless while the clock ticks slow. I absorb her ache. It becomes a part of me.
Lord, give me the words to say.
I remember the three friends who spoke with such confidence regarding Job's painful suffering--defining God from the earthly perspective, limited and hindered. Eventually the Sovereign chastens their poor reflection.
So I pray. God fill me. Dare I speak words that falsely portray Your face.
Then I ask to pray with her--to take her hand and lead her to the only knowing One. We approach His throne bold because of Christ. Clothed in righteousness. And His words become my own. Graciously.
Truth flows out and fills our hearing. Our faith increases as we remind our souls of who He is. Her faith increases. Her head lifts. Her tears dry. He spoke and comforted.
He spoke. Not me.
Bringing it home...
How can we be wise in our advising of others?
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