my friend patricia and i were discussing the random nature of blessing,
wealth specifically. this is an uncomfortable subject for me, because
i like to pretend money is like the leaves of a tree, available to whom
ever reaches their hand to pluck it. that, of course, is fiction.
one can't really think about blessing without a nod to its sister, sorrow.
remember when 'much afraid' (hind's feet on high places) is bound to
her new friends, 'sorrow' and 'suffering?' shudder. they were truly
friends and protectors, though.
why do some have a bucket of blessing, and others a hayfield of sorrow?
heck, if i know, but this i do know: how we respond to either is the
spoonful of sugar.
there are innumerable non-fiction stories about men of great fortune
who dithered it all away . . . along with wives and children. there
are also accounts of women who endured great suffering and through
it blessed many.
oswald wrote today that if we yield through the fires of sorrow to the
Man of sorrows, "God will make us nourishment for other people."
feast on me, baby!
"He was . . . a Man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering." is. 53:3