Pain declared his name

Over and over, they came to Him—

not with pride, but with desperation,

not with strength, but with wounds that would not heal.

The deaf came, longing to hear the sound of children laughing, or the whisper of wind through olive trees.

The blind stumbled forward, aching for the light they had never seen,

for the sunrise they only knew by rumor.

The lame dragged their brokenness across dusty roads,

bones twisted by time or torment.

The mute trembled, carrying words that had lived caged inside them for years.

The weary. The tormented.

The ones the world had given up on.

And He—full of mercy and fire,

God wrapped in fragile flesh—

He looked into their souls with knowing eyes.

He saw not only what afflicted them,

but what crushed them.

He saw the shame they carried like shackles.

He saw the places they had hidden from the world, the places they had hidden from themselves.

And still, He asked:

“What would you have Me do for you?”

Not because He didn’t know,

but because He wanted them to speak.

To pour it out.

To name it.

To invite Him in.

And with trembling lips and tear-soaked prayers, they told Him the truth—

the part of themselves they loathed,

the wound they thought unworthy of healing,

the silence they thought too deep to ever be filled.

And He—

the Healer of hearts, the Restorer of ruins,

the One who writes beauty into brokenness—

He touched the very thing they were sure disqualified them,

and made it the place where glory broke through.

Their shame became their testimony.

Their affliction became their altar.

The very thing that once defined their pain

became the miracle that declared His name.

And friend,

He has not changed.

He still kneels beside the crushed in spirit.

He still listens to the stammering confession.

He still asks,

“What would you have Me do for you?”

And when we dare to show Him the parts we hide— the parts we’ve written off as unlovable—

He gathers them up,

breathes life into them,

and writes redemption across every scar.

This is who He is.

This is what He does.

Then.

Now.

Always.