We are frail. A puff of breath, too soon extinguished, a gathering of dust, too easily scattered. We wrestle with this mortality in the face of the invisible armies of disease, the ravenous wolves of cancer, the bottomless appetite of pain. We long for healing, for wholeness. We clamour for invincibility against the onslaught.
And yet, this mortality is also a gift. Our broken bodies remind us that the facts and figures of our physicality are not the only reality. We are nomads in tents, desperately patching the rip and fray of our rubbing against the world, and a hurricane could blow the covering right off, but sooner or later we will all pack it away, and where will be our home?
The tents may fray, but home may still be had even in the gale and gust. There is wholeness and peace that can enter into the center of it all, the perfect calm of spirit that comes from connection with the One who first breathed into dust and brought life. He promises life beyond pain and love beyond death and a home right now where soul healing can be found.
God our Healer has hands that hold us in all our frailty, and when the dust settles our names are still written on his palms, right beside the scars. Here is hope.