One of the things that keeps unsettling me about Scripture is how little urgency God seems to have.
We do.
We rush grief. We prescribe timelines. We congratulate people for “moving on,” as though healing were measured by speed instead of depth.
God doesn’t seem interested in any of that.
He lets Job argue.
He preserves David’s tears instead of wiping them away.
He stands beside Mary while she weeps, even though He already knows Lazarus is about to walk out of the tomb.
That has always struck me as strange.
If the miracle is only moments away, why not skip the tears?
Because apparently God is after something greater than ending our pain as quickly as possible.
He is teaching us that love never hurries sorrow. It enters it.
I’ve begun to wonder if our inability to grieve is one of the reasons we struggle to heal. We anesthetize, distract, optimize, and “get back to normal.” But Scripture never treats lament as a detour from faith. It treats it as one of faith’s native languages.
Perhaps healing isn’t proven by how little you cry.
Perhaps it’s proven by where you carry your tears.
B🤍
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