They’re like the summer storms that come unexpectedly. Thick, angry clouds clog sunny sky; rain pounds pavement. We all run for cover. This is panic. I’m fine; I’m fine; I’m fine, and then, a trigger: a headline, a picture–and I’m not. I’m not fine. I’m gripping my hair hard and pulling it over my face. Tears stream hot down my cheeks. I tell myself: inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. My chest is heavy. Sometimes I’m alone and I grip my knees until knuckles wash white. When I’m lucky Jacob is home. He holds me tight and lets my tears fall on his cheek. The sharp edge of fire and the dull wave of grief wash over my mind and my body. And it’s over. It’s over. For now, it’s over. The wind has stopped rushing and the rain falls slow.
Some weeks it’s so hard– so hard to face a world so steeped in sadness. People are unfair, unkind. Children pass before their time. Health declines. Relationships fade. Terror strikes. Cancer wrecks. Storms destroy. Dogs die. Jealousy stirs. Faith wavers. Doubt creeps. Hope stirs in the promises of God. Hope that we can trust what we know to be true, not necessarily what we feel to be true. Hope that He will mend the broken places. Hope that our sorrows aren’t wasted; hope that He catches our tears: “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book” (Psalm 56:8). Hope that we are loved and never alone.