Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Lift the boy up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.— Genesis 21:17-18
To be truthful, there are some wounds I have nursed. Sometimes it feels good to hurt bad. I can take a wicked pleasure in rehashing what others have said or done to inflict the wound, each time reaffirming my own innocence and giving in to self-pity. I derive a counterfeit comfort from extending to myself sympathy and consolation and understanding. After all,I deserve those tears!Yet, even though it is often appropriate to grieve, an attitude of entitlement about my wounds can keep me wandering in a spiritual wilderness, weeping under the scrub bush, getting nowhere with my life. At some point, I have to decide if the wounds are worth holding on to. The wounding is past. That was then; this is now.
I believe Hagar had reached that turning point in her own journey. She had to decide if she was truly ready and willing to change. She had to stop her sobbing, stop fighting the wounders — mentally, emotionally, and spiritually — and just be still. She had to acknowledge the reality of her current position so she could get on with the rest of her life. Regardless of how she arrived where she was, she was there. I wonder if, in her weariness, she was just too tired to even take another step, think another thought, make any decisions at all.
God understands. Years later, another wounded child of His was running for his life through the desert ( 1 Kings 19:1-21). The prophet Elijah had just miraculously defeated the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. He then prayed, and the three-year drought that had plagued his nation ended with a pouring rain. But instead of being grateful for Elijah’s powerful ministry, the wicked queen was enraged and put out a warrant for his capture, dead or alive. And so Elijah ran.
When he finally collapsed under a broom tree, Elijah prayed that he might die. He was so exhausted and depleted that he fell asleep. He awoke to a gentle touch from the Angel of the Lord, who had brought him a jar of water and had fresh bread baking over a hot fire. Elijah ate, drank, then went back to sleep. For a second time, the Angel of the Lord touched him. With tenderness and compassion, He conveyed
the sympathetic heart of the Father:
Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.— 1 Kings 19:7
If God was sympathetic and compassionate with Elijah, and He was, why do you think He would blame you for your weakness and weariness and woundedness?

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