Before judgment sweeps Jerusalem in Ezekiel's vision, a man clothed in linen moves through the city with a writing kit, marking the foreheads of everyone who grieves over the evil done in it.

God reads hearts by what they mourn. Before the day gets loud, ask what your heart still grieves, and what it has learned to shrug at.

The elders in the dark room had a theology: the LORD does not see us. The marked ones had a heartbreak: they sighed over what the city had become. Ezekiel 9 sorts the whole population by those two interior postures, and the sorting happened before a single visible judgment fell.

So audit your grief. Not your opinions, your aches. What you can watch without wincing is a map of your heart's calluses, and what still makes you groan before God is where His Spirit has kept you tender. The man with the writing kit is looking for tears, not resumes.