He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not.

December 2, 2018 jeanne w.

What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?

And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN.

I pluck away the petals from the daisy as I pluck away the hairs from the cheeks of God. To see what is concealed there. He loves me. He loves me not. And the daisy, and the Face of God, does not turn away. Grasped in my hand, I count. The petals. and the hairs. When the paycheck comes, for me. When loved ones are here, for me. When the dis.ease gets cured. When the sun shines on my sunny side of the street. He loves me. When it does not. He loves me not. And day after day. When the income ceases. And never increases. When loved ones turn away. And away they stay. When dis.ease ends in death. without breath. When the sun no longer shines on my side of the street. And I’m worn down and beat. I can not straighten up, i’m doubled over. bent. When God is silent. He loves me not. He loves me not. He loves me not. He. loves. me. not. i pluck away. Until the daisy is bald.

For He. Has given me, my hands so weak. His cheeks.

That I may rip His Beard from His face.

And He hides not from my Dis.grace.

Why a sovereign, omnipresent, omniscient God allows suffering is a lofty, yet albeit easy argument to have when one is not in the midst of suffering. It’s easy to debate “why” when one is walking through fields of green clover.

But when one is in the midst of his or her “This,” sitting down in the dirt, of the wilted garden, on the shady side of the street, in the midst of the depths of a deep calls to deep. dark. night. of a personal soul suffering. blight. The argument is no longer lofty, nor is it easy. It is not a debate that, in the end, in the decaying garden, can be had with man. Nor with a god made from wood or steel or porcelain or clay. from fading flowers in the garden of the land of the living. It must be had. face to Face. with a sovereign, omnipresent, omniscient. Living God.

It is in the depths of my This, that i am not an overcomer. i am not. I have been weighed and measured and found wanting. and it is haunting. and daunting. how i have been overcome. Undone. My cords loosed. my mountains have departed and my hills removed. i stand here, like the bare daisy in my hand. From this once flowered head, my petals have been ripped. my glory stripped. my crown taken. and I mutter and utter, WHY? Have i been forsaken? by Your great love for me. my hope pulled up like a tree.

I have weighed Him. And measured Him. And found Him lacking. Love. For me. My handwriting is now on the wall. For i have been taught, and i have been caught, by the Theology of Glory. Ever-repeating man’s story.

Yes, I misunderstand.

But. Behold. His beard.

Now within my hand.

I had heard

of Thee

by the hearing of the ear

but now mine eye sees. Thee.

and it is all made clear

by the Theology of the Cross

as I stare at the now bared Face of God

my gain. counted. from His Loss.

Stripped of His Beard, for me, downtrod. by the rod

Heaven. For us. Sent.

Wherefore I abhor myself, even mine own eyelashes,

and i. repent

in dust and ashes.

Yes, I have been counted. Like Job. Baring Pain. Which has bared for me. a bald daisy. that i am known. by The Bared. Bald. Face. of God. Baring Beauty. Yes. Jesus. Loves me. Yes. Jesus Loves Me. Yes Jesus Loves Me. the Bible told me so. and from The Garden, I go. to say. Let me count the ways….

The first and last Petal. Shed, for me. Yes. He loves me. He loves me. He. loves. me… and He loves you. too.