Many say this is cope and maybe they're right, maybe the crushed are just crushed and there is no honor in it and no design behind it, but then i don't know what to do with Job, or it with Jeremiah who cried so hard he asked God why he was ever born, or it with the man who hung bleeding between two thieves and cried out why have you forsaken me? and those wretched, shattered, dust covered weeping fools who kept crawling toward him on broken knees were the only ones he called by name. i don't know what that means, but i can't ignore it
God honors his favorites by crushing them, drops the whole insufferable wretched weight of purpose on their spines until they either snap into shape or snap entirely. the unburdened, those buoyant grinning vapid little phantoms drifting through their own lives without a single crushing thing to carry, they are forgotten