I have touched pain, have you?
Can it even be touched?
Can it be pushed into a box and be sealed away never to be disturbed again?
No, pain is like its siblings, hurt, forsaken, and wounded, always there in the box waiting to be released to grow and fester until the full weight of infection escapes into the world.
I walk the halls waiting and watching for the signs of brake out a muffled cry, a putrid smell, a desperate companion calling.
How can I define something so ugly, so repulsive but so necessary?
A red light, a warning, a call for immediate attention. Difficult to ignore and demands action.
Is pain one of the many reflections of sin or is sin a reflection of pain?
Rather than reflection is pain a judgement?
Do all God’s creatures know pain and are we all not judged?