Concentration became close to impossible. I would list the things I wanted to accomplish in my head, but often even the essentials slipped through my fingers. As morning became evening, I would remember all that I had not done. It wasn’t that I lost interest; I really did want to... Where was God?
Chronic illness is an extremely heavy burden. It can feel so heavy we can wonder if God truly is He who says He is and if His promises are true. Our hearts wrestle with these huge questions and they sometimes fill us with doubt but we can look to God with certainty that no matter our pain, we are not alone.
We sometimes build a narrative of having to be useful to God. Oh, how the “God-using” language can exacerbate the uneasiness deep within us! The problem is that we stay bowed under this load, even in places where we should be free to express the truth.
Writing about pain is both necessary and difficult. Pain is eased by being moved and writing a poem about pain gets it moving. In Andrea Potos’ poem, we don’t know what her wounds are – only that the cello is speaking to those hurting places, encouraging them to become something beautiful.
