"Look," says my mother-in-law.
I turn from my distraction of catching Ben in my arms and setting the table for dinner. Through our side window I saw it...the antlered deer running.
"Look, Ben," I say and move closer to the front window to catch a glimpse of his magnificence as he passes by.
Then I notice the blood.
I move to the front windows, pressing close to validate in my mind what I think my eyes are seeing, but the glass stops me. I am left with impressions in my mind of the blood on his muzzle, his wildly flicking tongue trying to stem the hurt, and his frenzied run. Trying to outrun the pain.
What I want to do is run outside, scream stop, ask him what happened and try to stop the hurt. Of course, it's a ridiculous desire. Deer can't talk and I'm no deer whisperer.
So I do the next best thing and look down the street to see if anyone is following. Someone who can explain.
But there isn't. And so I pray and I cry because it's all I can do and it doesn't seem to be enough.
As I write I wonder at what God wants to whisper in what I witnessed.
Is it about the deer, blindly trying to outrun pain. Fleeing from painful circumstances instead of coming to the One who can heal our hurts?
Or is the lack of explanation about these painful circumstances which gnaws at me? An age-old question we ask of the One who can make it all go away but sees a greater purpose in allowing it to remain. For a time.
Writing sometimes helps me untie the knots of my thinking, and though I feel no resolution, the Spirit nudges me to wonder if this message is intended for another. As I write, I have words to a song running through my mind. Words which affirm the strength and might and essence of our God. So if you are trying to outrun the pain or crying out for a Word from Him who can explain, perhaps these words are intended for you...
"[His] love...it never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on [you]."
(And here's the song in its entirety:)