No rest for the Wicked

“…when I say: ‘My bed will comfort me, my couch will ease my complaint,’ then You scare me with dreams and terrify me with visions, so that I would choose strangling and death rather than my bones…”

My sleeping hours are often haunted by visions of horrors that torment me well into my waking hours.

Would that they were mere specters of overworked sensibilities or even an overwrought imagination, I would have more peace than I do.

But the horrifying truth is that they are composed very little of my own imagining, and consist of more actuality than I can bear to tell.

There is such a painful solitude in this. I dare not speak of what I have seen and continue to behold nightly…  that, plague-like, the very conception of such miseries would infect a mind unclouded by this tempest.

O, for a quiet night in silent and dreamless repose!

O, the evil that mankind doth perform upon itself!


Sometimes, as a far younger follower of the Lord, I used to pray that GOD would reach down and shake the world.

I would ask Him to pull back the curtain and tear loose the veil that covered my sight. I wanted to see more and, seeing that, further and further still.

Treading water over an abyss, I yet wanted Him to plunge me full fathoms five into the inexhaustible well of human suffering.

Foolish though I was (and still, in many ways, remain), His wisdom and mercy abounded…  like a father that holds his infant son, and keeps the child from dangers of which he is wholly ignorant.

“…for when dreams increase and words grow many, there is vanity, but GOD is the one you must fear…”


I am a fool.

Even torn loose from sleep’s tranquility and submerged into such dark waters, I will return to sleep again and reach outward with my sleeping eye.

The same One that makes all things new, shall also wipe away every tear.

In these dark shadows of murder, death, and destruction I yet see the radiant glory of His victory.

My rest comes swiftly; I will sleep and dream again.