I am crushed as I remember how I walked with the crowds, leading them in a procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and songs of thanks among the worshipers at the festival.
Why doesn't my pain ever stop? Why is my wound incurable? Why can't it be healed? You've really become like a seasonal stream to me, an unreliable source of water.
You've been complaining, saying, “I'm in so much trouble because the Lord has given me sorrow to make my pain worse! I've worn myself out with my groans. I can't get any relief.”
Those who hated her now control her; her enemies enjoy life, because the Lord has made her suffer due to all her sins of rebellion. Her children have been taken away as prisoners of the enemy.
Her uncleanness contaminates her skirts. She didn't think about what would happen. Her fall was a shock, and no one was there to comfort her. “Please, Lord, see how much I'm suffering, because the enemy has won!” she says.