There is no worse suffering than to be a
creature. We are like a word which one never finishes pronouncing, eternally
suspended and uncertain about its own meaning. A word which does not hear the
voice which pronounces it. A word which must be content to let itself be pronounced.
Or else we
are like rough-casts which have escaped from the hands of our modeler.
We are sick
and tired of being hurt, of blows, scrapings, cuttings, remodeling. But when we
stop in our furious flight, we find ourselves miserable, terribly insufficient,
incapable of expressing ourselves and finding our bearings, and we cry with
anger and indignation against him who is responsible for it.
There is no
rest, for a creature, except in the hands of his Creator. He alone can complete
it, free it from its anxiety and distress. But the place of its completion is
also the place of its pain, the place where God is at work on it. There is no
peace for us except in relying on the place where we are hurt.
L. Evely
Suffering
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