I am afflicted and I beg for relief. I am so helpless. I am a worm on a sidewalk about to be stepped on. I can’t move fast enough to avoid my own mortal doom. I’m voiceless so I can’t scream out for help or for the foot to stop its stomping towards me. I have no defenses, nothing, I can only lie there and wait for the foot to crush me.
But it never comes. The trembling earth beneath me is still.
The foot belongs to someone who has eyes to see and a heart that is merciful to worms like me. Instead of a crushing stomp I receive a lifting hand, a palm of grace and mercy, a soothing voice of gentleness, a soft placing into green pastures near still waters away from harm and the fear of imminent death.
Though a mere wriggling slimy worm, deserving of nothing, I am cherished in the gardener’s hands, valued for me work of eating, tunneling and even pooping. In the gardener’s watchful care I am tended and protected from the early birds, hungry for blood. He shoos them away. In the gardener’s care I am not worthless. In the Gardener’s eyes I am priceless, irreplaceable, valuable though I am still a worm, he makes me feel like more. Much more.
“God considers it just to… grant relief to you who are afflicted” 2 Thessalonians 1:6&7