It is no secret to me or close friends that I cry very easily when moved by something, when I’m hurt deeply, and sometimes, when I’m really mad. Unbeknownst to me, a shift was about to occur. On November 5, 2019 at 9:01 a.m. my tears became weighted. That was the day my mother died; the time at which I received that call; the day my life forever changed. I had never given it much thought before, but for some reason, I became aware of a change in my tears. I hear you asking, “What do you mean? Tears are just tears.” This was different. The way my tears were forming and releasing…there was a shift. I mean they were and are heavier…more sorrowful, and rightly so. Think about when you cried as a kid. Our tears would stream down our cheeks, but I think we tended to do more wailing than tearing. For some reason we thought the louder we cried, the more attention we got; the more dire our boo-boo or hurt seemed. Yet, these tears are different now. My sorrow is so deep that the tears are like large drops of rain that when I blink, just fall from my eyes like large droplets from a dripping faucet, often overwhelming me. The more I wipe them away, the faster and heavier they come. I can not contain them… it’s not in me to do so. I just let them come. That’s how I feel about my sorrow. It came upon me so fast and so unexpectedly that I can hardly keep up with it most of the time. Like a heavy summer downpour, it comes fast and unexpectedly. The only indication is a darkening sky and before you know it, you’re running for cover if you’re caught in the midst of it. With this sorrow, there is no physical cover. There is nowhere to run to, but GOD has provided a cover that is 100% guaranteed through His only Son, Jesus Christ, and through the Holy Spirit who is my Comforter.
The weight of my tears intensifies my encounters with God. They are more escalated and more desperate. The weight of my tears is so heavy that I am called into a position of worship that comes from deep within my sorrowful soul. The weight of my tears invokes me to lift my hands; to bow down; to lie prostrate before the Lord. In my weakness, I am made strong. This is when I’m able to sit up straight, pull myself to a standing position, and dry my eyes. When I’m praying or studying the Word, my tears overtake me and I am reminded I am not in control. Again, I just let them come. I can not tell you how many times I’ve cried out to God, not because I want Him to bring my mother back, but because I hurt and because I miss her. Even in the midst of that hurt and sorrow, I still have peace and joy because I have confidence in knowing Mother is in her eternal resting place with my Heavenly Father. I am forever grateful that she knew Him and that she instilled those values in my sister and I.
Through this journey called, “grief,” I have a choice in continuing to trust God, and I choose to do just that. Who else could I or would I turn to, but the one Who comforts? I shared with a friend, who recently lost her mother, that these encounters were becoming escalated. She said it is because our maternal comforter is no longer on earth, and it just seems natural that we turn to our Heavenly Father. In all things, I have a choice. While this is not a physical death for me, it feels like it, but I am reminded of Job’s testimony in Job 13:15 “Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him.” (NKJV). Not even the loss of my mother can or will shake my faith and my confidence in God.
Father, Your word declares in Psalm 34:18 that, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (NIV). God you are greater and You are able to do whatever I need You to do and You are able to be whoever I need You to be. Lord, I need you to be Father and Mother. Your Word declares that you will not leave me as an orphan (John 14:18). One day, “You will wipe away every tear from my eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away”(ESV). Right now, today and many days to come, I cry. This is the weight of my tears.