It’s a tough question to ask. Because I burn with passion to root for the opposite. Sometimes, deep down, in my foolish heart, I covertly lie to myself, wanting the destruction to unfold, to see a disaster come to fulfillment in my presence, as if destiny had run its course, and I could gloat, telling myself that I am not like him. I’m a wreck, but I’m not quite as doomed as that guy. And then, so lifted, I can delimb from my conscience any responsibility to help the suffering soul.
But isn’t it true that simply time, in all its God-given order, can heal what seemed absolute in its destruction? God created time to serve in part as an agent of His healing hand. One day to the next, God can ebb the hurt, and heal, as one wave goes over another, and softens the sand.
I suppose I can find out if something is repairable by looking inside. And to accept the mending.
A Brave New Heaven 