It’s been a long while since I dared to pick up the pen and let the ink run. 

This season has been one of heavy silence—one where the words come slow, where words, most days, simply can’t be found. It’s been a time of earnest fighting to hold onto the last shreds of hope. Days of deepest darkness have worn me through. These stains of pain can be traced way back to the beginning of time and penetrate still, into the now.

These past months I’ve touched open wounds—the kind that run deep through the heart. In my mind’s eye I see her again. That night I’d been digging deeper into the meaning of trust, and I see her dark eyes full of hurt as she raises her hand and in a self-protective way says, “I don’t trust anyone.” Her story remains unknown, but the scars leak through.

The memories come like a steady stream; I see myself in the small schoolroom. His swollen, little eyes cautiously meet mine as I kneel at his desk and patiently wait for his trembling explanation. The tears trickle as he whispers it to me, “My parents are abandoning me”.

Night after night I look into their eyes as the little people file into the room. The pain I see in each one tears at my heart. How can I help them? What can I do?

Still another time, I see myself in the small room with the soft, yellow wall. I’ve just finished reading a story of Jesus to her little son and she lifts her eyes and I hear her say, “I’m just tired. Tired of this world. Do you ever feel you don’t belong here? I just don’t belong here, don’t want to be here anymore.” Me too, my heart whispers, me too.

Still later, I pick up the phone and call a good friend. Her silence speaks for how we all are feeling. Finally, the words come slow. “KK, I’m going to tell you because I need to talk to someone. I just don’t have anyone to talk to.” She desperately says. Yeah, girl. I get it. Everybody needs somebody, but we’re all here fighting hidden battles alone. “Nobody cares.” She ventures. “They all need to talk, but there’s nobody that will listen. I can’t hold all the heavy stuff in my heart forever.” 

My heart resonates with each one of them—my own heart bleeds from its wounds and the scars run deep. There’s battles of my own raging beneath an exterior of calm. But life goes on. I can’t help but wonder how much longer hell will reign wild on this planet. So many hearts looking for a home—a safe place to finally rest. So many hearts bleeding for love. And I can’t image the pain in our Heavenly Father’s eyes as He wraps His arms around a broken world and whispers it too that He’s hurting for us to come home. That every throb in our hearts reverberates through His too. That every tear that falls is His too. That every disappointment, hurt, and pain, are His disappointments, hurt, and pain too.

That if no one else does, He cares—always. And I look into His eyes and see the reflection of a world drowning in pain and I know: it touches His heart deeply.

I know that if nothing else, my Father cares.