As I look at this image I see not only the man sat – with head in his hands – but also the dark empty space around him.
And, in truth, I know that darkness, oh how well I know that darkness.
And, in truth, I know that emptiness, oh how well I know that emptiness.
Not always, and not sometimes. But certainly all too often and certainly here and now.
And yet my darkness is far from empty. Other than the immense emptiness that at other times is filled with knowing – with truly knowing – that that Father is there and that He will bring me through this.
No. My darkness is filled with tortured thoughts and voices, statements which are launched from the merest of truths and yet twisted and corrupted and polluted beyond all recognition of that which they once were and that which they should be.
View original post 671 more words