My therapist starts each session by asking the same question: “Where do I find you?” The first time I went to see her, the question annoyed me. If everything had been normal, I would have said: “Right here, in your room, sitting on a couch.” Not this time. The question cut deep. I couldn’t be flippant; words failed me. She unlocked my words by posing a series of further probes: “Tell me what you are feeling.” “Tell me what you are thinking about.” “Tell me what you see.”

Read the text for today again. This time imagine the writer sitting speechless on a couch in God’s counseling room. God asks, “Where do I find you?” and the writer starts by unpacking what he sees, his feelings, his fears, and his doubts. The author apportions blame, tries to find the answers for himself, and makes every effort to make sense of this chaotic situation. God does not interrupt. God does not argue with his assumptions, his accusations, or his logic. God listens patiently and empathically, allowing the writer to let go of the words that had been locked up deep inside.

Healing does not come immediately, and it definitely does not come with concrete answers or by satisfying the difficult questions that we ask. It does not manifest in our eloquence or lack thereof. Healing starts when we know that we are received with empathy and compassion, when we are heard even when our words do not make sense (either to others or to ourselves).

Yesterday’s challenge of putting words on paper or paint on canvas or playing a musical instrument may have felt overwhelming. Where do I start? Start with one word, or one stroke of the brush, or one note. This is where the writer of our scripture started, by humbly stating what he saw in front of him: a lonely city on top of a hill. And then the rest followed.