Wounded by Him

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When I withdraw this grace of conversation with Me for a time, it is so that you will not mistake it for the product of your own imaginings, and also so that you will not grow accustomed to My words and so, little by little, fail to take them to heart and to treasure them.   ~   In Sinu Jesu

 

          On the First Saturday of this month of the Eucharist, as the sun began its ascent to its throne in the highs of the skies, Jesus told me He was withdrawing from me. Yet, so soft was his voice that I tucked it away, thinking He meant a time in the past. Later that night, the eve of Feast of Mercy was marked in a temporary but intense falling out with one of my children over their conscience. It was brief, but deeply upsetting for us both. Although the nets were mended that very night, I felt as if something had been torn from me. Did I disobey God in some way? Did I use the wrong words? Did I preempt God’s timing through what I had said? Did I move ahead to speak without praying and discerning sufficiently?

          Retiring for the night, all I asked for was that Jesus not hide from me, but speak to me. That I hear His voice when I needed to most.

          All that returned to my ears was silence. Rising to meet the pearling new dawn, I knew my Lord had not come to my heart in the night.

          As the sun rose to its glory and the eastern winds began their earnest visits, I felt their beauty by the door of my heart. Nothing could pierce this sense of unsettling uncertainty over the events of the old night. In the argument the previous night, my only intention had been that God be glorified. But why did I feel that something had been torn away from me, despite the restoring of sweetness?

          More importantly, why did it not hurt as wounds always do?

          I took the desolation within me to Adoration. Going before the Miraculous Image on this Feast of the Divine Mercy, I dropped my prayer cart and fell to my knees. I gave Jesus everything. Every word, every sharing, the doubts, the right and wrong of it.

          In a silent instant, it was all taken away.

          Every thing in my prayer cart was taken. Nothing was left behind. I sensed the complete inner healing of that strange, unseen wound.

          Yet, my Lord remained silent. No Word did He give me for my hours on choppy waters. Did I do wrong? Did I not?

          About to lift my spirit in question again, I felt an unseen finger write these words  on my heart,

Wounded by Him.

 

 

 

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