This is my big brother.
Wolverine every Halloween for 5 years straight. Wolverine who could heal himself and withstand an unyielding amount of pain.
Smartest man I know.
Broken. Desperate. Starving.
Loved fully. Valued now.
I find out that his freedom is taken. He is stuck. Thick brick and restrictions. He is not permitted to be free. He must remain behind walls that are too heavy for him to move.
Isn’t this how his life has always been?
I shake at the lack of control. There is nothing I can do. My stomach churns. My insides scream and wail and won’t be distracted or convinced or settled. My eyes can see nothing else. I close them and I see his loneliness. His shame. Hope running out. No words of mine can make it right. Nothing of mine can take it away or make it less.
I see us at the beach as kids. Making castles and memories. Digging holes that we could easily climb free from. There was always someone bigger with us. If we swam out too far, there was always a lifeguard. Someone who could race to a higher vantage point and see the whole ocean. There was always someone who could see the way out.
There still is. Even if left unacknowledged, He still sits high up. Most high up. He sees all. He holds all.
He fills our lungs with breath so we may breathe out praise. He gives us life that we may give Him the due glory.
No matter what.
Sin slithers in and tells me despair has been earned. His voice shakes the earth and establishes firm hope. It tells me that I am free to hope now. I can plead boldly and expect great, Earth shaking things.
“The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.”
“He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On Him we have set our hope that He will deliver us again.” 2 corinthians 1:10