Tears

I have this good friend.  She's the kind of friend who you can just drop in on, go on random walks with, tell secrets to, drink raspberry wine with...sometimes at 11:00 in the morning. We text back and forth all day long, laughing and giggling, sharing triumphs and woes.  She's the kind who saves her expensive jeans for me because she thinks I might be able to squeeze my butt in them. How flattering.  God knew I needed her right now.  Maybe she needs me. 
I don't know.

And the blows keep coming to her. Blows after blows after blows.  It never ends for her and her family.  It's not even like she can see a window, or a glimpse of goodness, of blessings.  She just gets hit down, hit down again and again.  I listen, and I feel like I say the same things over and over again, all the while begging God for mercy for them because I can't whisper one more time, "I can't even imagine. I'm praying for you.  I love you."

And so when I don't understand, when I don't see the why, when I know in my head that God only gives us what we can handle, I have a hard time transferring this notion to my heart of hearts, embracing the fact that God is allowing this trial at this moment for them.  She has made no decisions to cause it.  She is just trying to live her life raising two boys, and nurturing a husband who is thirsty for normalcy.

She is a hero because she chooses to laugh during the day at the ridiculousness of it all.  She is a hero because she believes that God will heal her son completely, wholly, fully.  She is a hero because she opens up her home in the midst of chaos, flailing wide her gaping heart, telling the truth, being brutally honest.  She is a hero because she made me prophesy and promise that her second son would be born into this world with zero complications.  I did.  I promised.

I love you friend.  Your tears are being collected, I promise.

"You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book."  Ps 56:8