The Good Shepherd Who Hears My Lament
I hid in my bedroom, sweat beading on the back of my neck and my stomach gnarled into nauseous knots. My panic attack rose from two to ten in a matter of seconds, and I clenched my fists so tight I broke skin. My breath came out jagged, sharp, and rapid. Once the panic attack peaked, it slowly brought itself down, and I curled up on my bed to weep.
As a family, we were going through a period of dark suffering. We had gone from the darkest valleys, then edged towards the green pastures and quiet waters, but took a sudden turn back into the same valley we were in before. My life felt like a nightmare; at night, my mind dreamt of prancing in the green fields again by the calm, sparkling stream—but I awoke each morning to find myself still amid the darkest valley with no light streaming in from either end.
Our Good Shepherd leads through both the even, green plains and the dark, rocky gorges. He never grows more distant on either terrain but leads us with his outstretched arm and protects us with his staff. As he leads us, his ear is bent low to listen to both our gratitude and our lament, and he never grows weary of hearing either—even if others do.
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