Like a water drop that drips... That drips slowly and carefully from a faucet...my tears come.
They do not flood. They start gently, welling up inside until - one by one - they melt the surface of my cold cheek.
In this way, I weep for the troubles of the world.
O God, catch our tears as they fall - one by one - into the waters of despair and grief.
I've heard it said that your plan is perfect, that you've got it all worked out in advance. That you know the in's and out's of our days and life choices better than the farmer knows the creeks and crevices of his land; more intently than the surgeon studies the body laid before her.
But what happens when our certainty in your plan, our trust in your all-knowing wisdom, fails to answer our hardest questions of 'why'? What happens when the longing for more paralyzes our hearts and turns our faith to mush?
Give us something to hold on to when everything else is out of reach. Be near, God. Be the Healer they write books about. Be the Deliverer we sing our songs to.
Don't forget the water of tears that flow from your people's eyes. Remember the sound of the animal as it cries out for protection.
Where do you go when things get hard? When life is short of air and suffocating? Don't be far, God.
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
"Comfort, o comfort my people."
And sit with us in the morning.