My wife awoke one morning with a severe pain in her back. I, excitedly, told her that one of her Christmas gifts would be pain medication.

She was not amused and replied she did not consider that much of a gift.

Instantly, my mind turned to Newtown Conn. Would they not exchange all the "worthy" Christmas gifts in the world if someone, anyone, could offer them a simple tube or jar of pain medication that would make all of that hurt go away?

Alas, there is presently no such remedy.

Furthermore, to add insult to injury, it should not have been, nor meant to be this way.

The original intent of our maker was a blissful place called Eden devoid of pain, misery and woe. In constant communication and an abiding, loving relationship with the Lord of the universe we were destined for a most pleasurable existence.

What went wrong?

Who messed up?

Whose fault was it?

Who is to blame?

Some answers are not worth the time, energy or pursuit. Since the response will not offer any relief from the pain.

You will not find any comfort or solace for your aching soul.

Discovery will not lessen the anguish or cause the agony to disappear.

The momentary satisfaction you will encounter on learning the truth will be ever so brief and fleeting.

It is what it is!

We have been exiled from our rightful place, banished to a foreign land where evil holds sway and is the order of the day.

We find ourselves, as it were, in a valley of dry dead bones, overshadowed by darkness and death.

All joy has been squeezed out of life, so frivolity, gaiety and glee are now a distant memory

Mirth and laughter have become strangers in your households.

Merriment is scarce and in short supply as sadness and grief occupy every corner.

Music has been all but forgotten and to strike up a cheerful refrain would seem to be obscene and inappropriate.

Food and drink have lost their appetite while your tears have become your meat day and night. You cannot shake that pervasive feeling that the demons of hell are mocking you as your mind constantly asks, "where is your God in all of this?"

With clenched fists and grit teeth, you feel like screaming out to the heavens, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?"

Then, within the deep scalding recesses of your mind a still small voice is heard. You try to shake it off, to ignore it, but it will not be denied.

This is not my will and purpose for you. My desire for you has always been a future full of good things If you think your pain is awful, multiply your hurt a thousand times a thousand and you will have some inkling of the sorrow in my breast. Can you imagine how difficult it was for me to see you walk hand in hand out of that garden? Unsophisticated, innocent and naive you did not understand nor appreciate the horrors that awaited you. A merciless, relentless foe would do everything to make your lives a living hell. I knew the relationship would never be the same again. From that day onwards I did everything possible, even impossible, to restore the broken fellowship.

How many messengers have I sent to tell you of my good intentions and love for you?

How did you treat them?

What was your response?

You mocked, tempted and tormented them.

To still their voices and discourage their words you scourged their bodies, placed them in bonds or imprisoned them in dungeons. Moreover, you slew them with the sword, stoned or sawed them asunder.

Being destitute and afflicted they wandered about in sheep and goatskins as garments. Their homes were the deserts, mountains, caves and dens of the earth. My bottle containing their tears is filled to overflowing. You did everything in your power to show disdain for my entreaties.

Time after time you spat in my face. There seems to be no limit for your capacity for evil nor depth of depravity to which you will not descend.

At this time of year, you've set aside to talk about peace on earth. The season when we celebrate the arrival of a Savior, the hope of Israel and the light of the Gentiles.

It feels as if you have thrusted the spear in my side over again and twisted it without pity.

Ryan Lanza has made the mothers of Newtown, Conn. unwilling members of a unique sorority. When he snatched their babies from their embrace, they became instantly full-fledged inductees of that dreadful sisterhood who share the horrendous gut wrenching emotion of:

The mothers of Goshen,

The mothers of Bethlehem,

The mothers of Dunblane Scotland

The mother of Emmitt Till of Chicago, or

The Nazarene mother ,on a hill called Golgotha, who helplessly watched her first born son shedding his blood on a cross.

Yes! I could have intervened but I withheld my wrath because it was not the appointed time.

However, I must warn you, do not let pain, sorrow and regret overwhelm you.

Do not slap away again my outstretched arm nor bite the hand that still feeds you.

Turn unto me once more.

I will listen.

I remind you this day, my love has not diminished.

My eyes have not grown dim.

My ears are not heavy and my arm has not shortened nor lost its strength.

We are fast approaching the fullness of time as the age of the Gentiles is coming to an end.

Though it seems to tarry, watch, do not lose heart, wait for it.

The hand with the sickle of the reaping angel is raised.

Gabriel is poised with the trumpet near his lips ,awaiting my cue.

Soon and very soon, I am coming back to set things right.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy is coming in the morning.

On that bright day all sorrow, pain and mourning will cease and flee away.

I personally will wipe away all tears from your eyes.

That sweet morrow will usher in a kingdom of joy and gladness which will last forever.

Your eternal destiny is now in your own hands.

You must deny our mutual enemy the ultimate victory and pleasure.

The city foursquare with the heralded streets of gold is prepared and ready.

It is as near as a repentant heart.

It is yours for the asking and lies within your grasp.

This time, I beseech you, do not let it slip away.

V. Knowles is a husband and father with an interest in penning issues that serve to uplift mankind. He melds his love for Classic literature, The Bible and pop culture - as sordid as it may be - into highly relatable columns of truth, faith and justice. Hence the name: Just Thinking. If he's not buried in a book or penning his next column, you may find him pinned to his sectional watching a good old Country and Western flick.