When I look upon my list of sufferings
personal and individual
they always seem so daunting and imposing to my eyes.
They are mine, and so the scars they bring are so much more raw and wounding
searing with pain and regret.
And yet my list, though imposing to me, is so much shorter than it could be.
I bear my sufferings, but the sufferings of the world are so much greater.
And so I put them in a sack
and sling them over my shoulder
and move on to someone who’s sack is so much larger
and painful.
Mine is filled with daggers, but they are sharp to only me.
Another’s may be filled with swords
or bombs
and thus it is my task to walk beside and bear it with them
making the burden lighter.
You have turned my mourning into dancing;
you have taken off my sackcloth
and clothed me with joy,
so that my soul may praise you and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.
