You ask too much.
I thought these words at some point in the night. They were spoken with a mental pointing finger in an accusing tone. I was frustrated with Jesus, King of Kings.
I've been reading the Gospels and Jesus' guarantee of suffering, torture, torn familial relationships has gotten under my skin. I can't shake it.
And then He has the gall to say it will end and yet it's been happening for two thousand years since - with periods of peace certainly - but still. Where are you Jesus?
Is "You ask too much" a lie like snake Satan's who whispered in Eve's ear so long ago? He was asking behind a fruit and tree question: "Is God good?" "Are you sure?" "How sure?"
As I write this this morning the sunrise is streaking purple, orange, yellow and the grey of morning is pushed away.
I guess my decision moving forward is based on the same questions it's always been:
Does He ask too much?
Are there gifts to make the wait endurable?
Is there a reward at the end of the waiting?
And I have not even suffered like others, at all. Corrie Ten Boom, for example, who pronounced Him faithfully kind to the end of her life. Or countless martyred saints around the globe who would not release their grip on His love.
My concerns and anger are not for the past of my own experiences but for the future. I am frightened to suffer.
THE NEXT DAY.
"You ask too much" I accuse.
And then I read four accounts
of how grieved and frightened You were, too.
The Garden saw Your suffering.
You asked too much of Yourself.
Let Your courage be what sustains me.