Cloaked in Angel's Wings

I hear sounds of despair as people awaken to each new day. Sad souls with weary hearts rise with the morning sun; yet their spirits are steeped in bitter hopelessness.

Sadness diminishes the beauty of the morning's chorus of sparrows and song birds.

I sense the pain that never ceases. My body and soul ache, and my heart grieves for those whose pleas for help bombard the halls of heaven.

Day after day, wounded spirits groan under the weight of their burdens while heaven seems silent to their cries for help.

When the burden becomes more than I can bear, and I find myself spiraling into the inky blackness of sorrow, grief and pain; I hear the faint stirrings of the sound of comfort.

With gentleness and tender touch, warmth overtakes me and comfort envelops my wounded body.

I hear the faint rustle as the angels of God wrap their glorious wings around me and cradle me in their bosom.

Unseen hands of mercy comfort me as the pain that engulfs my spirit is released through my groanings and never ending tears of sorrow.

I close my eyes and allow myself to fade into the nothingness that carries me to a place where there is no pain.

I revel in the relief... Deep sighs escape my breathing as I sink into the softness of sweet and undisturbed rest.

As peace envelops my spirit, the pain in my body eases and I breathe in the sweet aroma of comfort.

How I yearn for the presence of someone who cares enough to touch me. How I long for someone who doesn't shrink from the stench of my ills.

Is there no balm in Gilead?

Surely, after all this time; God's people must have learned how to bring comfort to the world they are called to serve?

Why the delay then? Where are the priests who can discern and dispel the demons that reek havoc on broken spirits?

Where are the good Samaritans and innkeepers who stand at the ready to receive those who have been beaten and robbed?

Where are the watchmen on the wall who sound the alarm in Zion?

Where are the governors who administer the rebuilding the walls of shattered lives?

Where is the chosen generation that understands their priesthood?

Where are the kings who can speak words of life into the dark places of death and decay?

Where are those who believe the report of the Lord, and understand their divine, eternal purposes?

How I yearn to hear words that decree life. How I yearn for the winds of power that are propelled through the heavens as a high priest declares the oracles of God.

How I yearn to hear the rustling of angel's wings as the mighty hosts of heaven are deployed to the earth.

How I long to send hope, comfort and tender mercies to a world that steps naked into each new day, oblivious to the glory that is buried within.

I am wearied with my groanings. My prayers seem useless, powerless, empty and frail.

Hope deferred truly maketh the heart sick... and yet, it is during these darkest hours of my battle with hopelessness that I experience the most comfort.

"I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you."

"I will never leave you, nor forsake you."

"Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors."

How I yearn for the day that my victories are propelled through my spirit and envelop my broken body with the tangible comfort of more than just words fitly spoken.

Peace, Shalom, nothing missing; nothing broken.

These are the words that bring comfort to my Spirit, which in turn brings comfort to my body.

I yearn for a cloak... for a warm blanket that surrounds my chilled body with life giving heat.

Once again, as I find myself alone and drowning in a pool of my own tears; I am comforted by the cloak of the wings of the angels who hold me.

Til Jesus comes; they are enough. They are kind and gentle, and I embrace their tender care. I cling to them as, together; we wait for the saints of God to find their way to me.

There are so many more like me... how heaven weeps as blinded eyes walk past us each day; oblivious to not only our needs...

But oblivious to their ability to help.

As each day passes, and saints dwell in their oblivion, my spirit is comforted in the wings of angels.

The day is coming, I know... when I will be able to cry loud enough for them to hear me.

The day is coming, when they find me; I will lead them to the others who suffer from the same cycle of never ending fear, pain and grief.

The day is coming, and I am ready. As are the angels who carry the comfort of God in their wings.