Tears talking
I have a dream from time to time. I’m supposed to be playing the piano on a worship team, but I can’t find my music. I search and search, and meanwhile the rest of the group gets started. I see them up there going at it, but I can’t find my music. So I keep searching.
Life feels like that to me these days — like I’ve missed a key opportunity to show up. I’ve been busy, not with searching for music, but with the worthwhile endeavor of home schooling. Now as I look around, I realize the clock has been ticking. My daughters are within sight of the finish line here at home. What do I have to offer the world outside? Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?
It’s kind of a paralyzing feeling, and I have trouble praying about it. This poem by Jill Briscoe, from a sermon called “Crumbling Clay,” has run through my mind this week. It reminds me that wordlessness is no barrier to God. He understands and responds to the language of fear, anxiety, and tears.
Put Thou my tears in Thy bottle. Are they not written in Thy book? (Psalm 56:8)
Tears talking
Pattering petition on the door of Heaven
Let me in
Wet misery, fountains of fury
Rivers of recriminations racing down the riverbed of doubt
Stopping at the throne
Bottled bereavement
Arranged by angels
Given to the King
He tilts the bottle carefully over His book of remembrance
Letting the drops fall onto a clean page
Transported in a teardrop
Translated into eloquence
My wounded woe writes its words of worry down
Splashing sadness signs its name
Then dry depression comes to stay
For all the tears have gone
The Father reads my tears, then he passes the book to the Son
Who shares it with the Spirit, and the angels gather round
Some small celestial spirits are lifted on the Father’s knees
And the story is told, and they listen —
They all listen! —
And I am heard.
“I’ve heard her prayers, I’ve seen her tears” says the Father
“I’m touched with the feeling of her infirmities” says the Son
“And I’ll pray for her with groanings which cannot be uttered” says the Spirit
“And God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes” sing the angels
“And there shall be no more death
Neither sorrow nor crying
Neither shall there be any more pain
For the former things shall pass away.
–Jill Briscoe
