Not quite four years ago.
It was a watershed moment. I looked around the courtroom at the other bewildered parents, frankly wishing that my (adopted) son was just a weed dealer or boat thief.
He had done so much worse, and to people who were too young, innocent, and precious to deserve such terrible affliction.
I whined to God–why?! Why me? Why us? Why this?
Too much to bear…
That was my line of thinking until steady eyed Jesus reminded me of the thing He had done for me–
…numbered with the transgressors
I was numbered with the transgressors.
The message was clear–if He, blameless God, could be counted with the evildoers, I could stand this terrible heartbreak and shame.
After all, He was numbered for me, an actual transgressor.
We often forget what misery we have bought but not yet fully paid for in our rebellion against Love.
Love, heartbroken for His children. All His children.