Good morning…
“There are two things I love most about yesterday’s post,” she said as she pulled out her journal to show me her handwritten gems. “One is something Lou shared and the other is something you highlighted.”
“I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let Him,” she sat back and smiled as she read from her page. “I love that. It applies to so many things.”
She’s right. Love unconditionally? I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let Him love me and love others through me, unconditionally. Eventually grow joy after a devastating loss? I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let Him grow joy, eventually. Overcome an addiction? Wait out depression? Make the sun rise, the season change, the hurting heart ready? I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let Him.
“I have never read the Scripture verse you highlighted at the end of yesterday’s post,” she continued. “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book (Psalm 56:8). I love that,” she said.
I also really love knowing that our tears are not hidden from God. Our tears are not lost and unseen. Our seasons of sorrow are not useless, they add up to something bigger. Each tear and every sorrow is so valuable to God that He notices, collects, and records our pain in His heavenly journal, gathers our tears in a bottle bearing our name.
“Wait a minute,” I said. I got up from my chair and went to my shelf of miniature sandtray symbols. I came back with a baby blue bottle about five inches tall and handed it to her. “This is a tear bottle. I have always loved this Scripture verse so much that I asked a friend to bring me back a tear bottle when she went to Israel. In an ancient tradition, people would hold a bottle like this up to their cheek and collect the tears shed throughout their lifetime. Eventually they would baptize their babies with these gathered tears.”
Our tears are not lost. Our sorrows grow joy. Our God sees, notices, and aches with us in pain.
A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek; I want to drink God, deep draughts of God. I’m thirsty for God-alive. I wonder, “Will I ever make it—arrive and drink in God’s presence?” I’m on a diet of tears—tears for breakfast, tears for supper. All day long people knock at my door, pestering, “Where is this God of yours?” (Psalm 42:1-3, MSG).
I think I have just discovered our best answer to their pestering question: “My God is up in heaven journalling about me, collecting and keeping each one of my tears.”
…Sue…
