She's hurting, but she dare not get upset or complain, for He is perfect and she doesn't want to seem ungrateful, or... un-spiritual. So she thanks Him for the crumbs, thanks Him for the rags that at least cover her nakedness as she wanders the desert. She licks the dew off the blades of grass, she crushes a cactus with a rock and sucks the juice. She is thankful for the liquid that keeps her body alive. She remembers a story of water from a rock and manna from the sky, but it's not to be found here. There is a purpose, she says, I just can't see it. He loves me, His word says so, He has shown me His kindness before. Other seasons have been good, this is just a difficult season, press on, press on.
A sandstorm sweeps the desert, she survives, in a mysterious cave she stumbled upon at the last minute. Thank you God, she says, you have spared my life again. Her eyes sting from the dust, she wipes them with her rags. The storm over, she emerges from the cave and adjusts her burning eyes to view the landscape. All the cacti lay on the ground, destroyed. She waits for the dew, she licks the grass. The sun rises, the dew dries up and the heat saps her strength. She goes back to the cave to hide from the heat and collapses in a heap. Thank you for the cave and the dew, she whispers hoarsley, her lips crack and bleed. She takes a breath and something breaks, her exhale is a wail, loud and clear. She cannot control it any longer. She cannot silence her broken heart and she wails. Deeply. Tears flow, hot and abundant. She wails her heart's contents, spilling it all over the ground, all over His feet. Loudly. The lament pushes tears into dry ground. Her tears begin to reach seeds that have waited, waited, waited...
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