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April 30, 2011

creases. lines. furrows.

His face is covered in lines. Creases from age, from work, from life. From marriage.

He laughs often, but something brews beneath the surface.
Something hard. Even more: something hurt.

Mark is a straight shooter. He doesn't pull punches; he tells it like it is.
Truth—sometimes too much, on occasion, too blunt.

On a quiet winter night, as doors clicked shut and cars rolled away into darkness, he asked me what was furrowing my brow. I was fretting, but I didn't know it was so apparent. We began to talk about relationships and marriage, and he, in his typical straightforward manner, told me how difficult his marriage has been. (Yes—too much information for him to be sharing with me, a single lady...but his seriousness cautioned me and urged me to prayer, so I am thankful for that conversation). 

"I wish I had married my best friend."  If he could, he'd do it over.
He'd marry a woman who feared the Lord.

I grieve for him.
More importantly, the Lord grieves for him.

The Lord takes those things that crease our brows.
His back was lined with scars that prove He got personal with our pain.
"Cast your cares upon Him, for He cares for you."
(There is hope: this week I heard the amazing story of a redeemed marriage.)

But for 70 or 80 years on earth, we still hurt. Sin's plow digs deep furrows.
Will we bear one another's burdens?
Will we pray "Maranatha—our Lord, come"?

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