God had inflicted a serious wound. Not out of anger, but out of love.
Yet because of their ugly injury, all so-called friends of the nation had fled.
Not one offered medicines of healing. Not one pled for their cause. Israel was an outcast.
Yet that was exactly what Israel needed.
For in the pain and loneliness of feeling utterly forsaken and mortally wounded, they finally sensed their need.
The concept shared with me by friends seems to jump out at me from the page.
Only when we are broken can we be blessed and transformed.
The Administer of punishment now promised to bind up the very wounds He had inflicted. To heal their bruises. To restore health and that, more abundant than before.
The yokes of bondage were broken.
The nation that had held them captive so long set them free.
Blessings of fruitfulness and multiplied families were given.
Laughter was again heard within the homes of Jerusalem.
Yes, their wounds were healed by the Giver’s hand. Unfortunately the lessons God sought to teach them didn’t remain fresh in their memory, yet only because they forgot Him again in their prosperity.
My vision is expanded. I see new possibilities, thanks to friends who were willing to share. Our experience doesn’t have to follow their example of repeated failure. My brokenness can be my restoration, my transformation. My wound, the cause of healing. My sorrow, my joy.
Through brokenness I can find blessing and in the blessing, forever restoration.