It hurts to cry. I found that out the hard way last night. I never knew how many muscles in my neck were ones I used to cry. And trust me, you use a lot more of them than you realize. There are nights when sleep is elusive (no matter how much percocet I am on) and the grief and fear are overwhelming. Last night was one such night.
I have felt those tears resting in my throat for days… that ache that sits just at the base of my neck waiting to erupt.
Tears of uncertainty as I waited for the surgery to come.
Tears of pain as I rejoice greatly with friends and the miracle of their newborn babies, yet the ache of struggle against God’s will in my life that we will have no more. The longing to hold another of my own in these arms. The thankfulness that I have my three blessings. The joy that I can “mother” the children of friends.
Tears of frustration at the sleeplessness, the tossing and turning and groaning to God asking for relief from the onslaught of Satan’s arrows of fear and despair.
Tears of love that gaze at sleeping faces as I tuck them in knowing they will wake to find me gone on the morning of surgery.
Tears of anger and hurt, burning hot at the insensitive remarks by friends.. or the painful silence by those who have disappeared from my life.
Tears of disgruntlement as I listen to my husband complain about his lack of coffee on the morning of my surgery, then laughing with him as I offer to trade places.
Tears of desperation as I pull Brian close and whisper thickly, “If I don’t wake up, you tell my babies I love them. Every. Single. Day. You tell them until the day they die. You promise me that. And you find someone that I would trust to tell you every day until you die. You all cannot ever forget how much I love you.”
Tears of relief that God saw fit to say “yes” to my pleadings that they be able to use my port and no IV’s in the process.
Tears of thankfulness that the surgery went well, that he removed all that he believes he needed to, that my recovery is going smoothly.
Tears of joy that I am home with my family again; that my parents are with me.
Tears of affection as I see the faces and hear the voices of friends who are calling and visiting, choosing to walk through yet another fire with me.
Tears of loneliness as I sit in the darkness and wrestle with the anxiety over what comes next, and what if…? What if those twelve nodes show a clear spread of cancer? What does this mean?
Tears of physical pain as I struggle to get comfortable.
Tears of sadness as I watch my little ones run out the door to cut down the Christmas tree without me. Watching my heart run beside them panting, trying to catch up, then stopping as the van disappears from sight.
Tears of relief that one more step is over, that healing can begin, that every day holds improvement.
Tears of sorrow over my daily struggles with sin, coupled with tears of refreshment at God’s mercy and forgiveness.
Tears of disappointment over the distance, the miles that separate me from my dearests living far away.
Tears of release, because sometimes you just need to cry.
And tears because of this truth: He is with me. No matter how often I have failed Him; He has never failed me. No matter how my body is wasting away, He has delivered my soul from death.
You have kept count of my tossings;
put my tears in your bottle.
Are they not in your book?