Sacred Drops: Tears Bottled, Stories Told

I snuggled my daughter in my arms, slowly rubbing my thumb across her soft cheek. I listened as she gave me the greatest gift one human can give another – the depths of her heart. Her fears, her joys, her concerns, her dreams, and her worries.

“Mama,” she whispered, “do you remember when the ambulance took you away to the helicopter when you had Covid?”

I didn’t respond in sound but kissed the top of her head and continued to caress her face.

“I was sitting in the garage on the golf cart. They were afraid you would die before you got to the hospital. I heard the paramedics talking. I watched them close the ambulance doors and cried. I didn’t know if you would come back.”

My heart was crushing under the weight of her words as I realized anew all the trauma she had experienced in her short 3000 days of life. The guilt flooded my heart. I internally screamed at the Lord – “It’s one thing for me to hurt. But when it hurts my daughter, it’s a totally different story! I was the one who told you I wanted to know You in whole and not in part! She is innocent in all this, Lord! Why must she hurt so much, too?”

The Holy Spirit then sent words of comfort like a tsunami. “I love her far more than you ever could. I count each of her tears and collect them in a bottle. I know her pain. I see her sorrow. I have equipped her with all she needs to walk through and process her trauma. Listen to her stories. Let her express her fears. And point her back to Me. That’s why you’re her Mama. I picked you just for this purpose. You two are indeed a match made in heaven. Trust Me.”

“Through the crucible of hardship, empathy is forged. In our struggles and trials, we learn the depth of understanding, compassion, and connection with others.”[1]

My shirt was now a soft landing for her tears. Her hair a gentle pillow for mine.

“Tears do not reflect a lack of faith; indeed, they are a companion of authentic faith,” says author and fellow weeper Joni Eareckson Tada.

Lovie thoughtfully continued, “There’s been a lot of times I’ve cried when you’re sick. Sometimes I try to hide my tears, but sometimes I can’t.”

“What does it mean to be brave, sweet Lovie?” I whispered.

Her blue eyes gazed at me with a gentle smile, “Trusting God even when I’m afraid!” she parroted back my definition. “It doesn’t mean that I’m not scared. I can be brave and afraid at the same time. I can even cry. But I trust that Jesus is right there with me,” her voice broke into tears again and trailed off toward another painful memory.

“Do you remember when Grandee snuck me into the ICU when you were really sick at Grandview? The nurse brought me a popsicle, and we talked while you were on the BiPAP. I cried when Grandee said I had to leave.”

“And remember when I came to see you at USA?[2] It was the day you had your port removal surgery. We brought you a milkshake! I snuggled in bed with you, and we took funny pictures.” She looked up at me again, and her eyes sparkled. (A glimmer memory in a day of intense pain.) “But when Grandee and Nanny said we had to leave, I couldn’t let go of your hand. I just held on as he pulled me away. We both cried. Do you remember, Mama?”

My eyes were moist as I nodded. “I do, baby girl.”

“Mamas and daughters aren’t supposed to be separated. That’s why I cried. It shouldn’t happen. It’s not fair. Is it, Mama?”

“I remember lots of times when I had to let go of you because you were sick. It’s always really scary. I never know if you’re gonna come back or die.”

Again, a knife plunged into my heart, and I felt like I would suffocate with the intensity of her narrative. “Oh, Father!” I moaned internally.

“Do you know that David says that God counts our tears? Each and every one of them! And He stores them in a bottle,” I questioned.

“What does He do with them, Mama?” her tender young voice wondered aloud.

“I don’t know for sure. I don’t think the Bible tells us. But I think He stores our lifetime of tears in separate beautiful bottles. And when we get to heaven, one day, we will be able to exchange those tears for jewels to give to Jesus!”

“I think He knows what each tear was from,” my wise little one said. “I think before I exchange them, God will sit down with me and remind me why I cried that tear and how He helped me while I cried.”

Her face broke into a grin as she said, “It’s gonna take a long time for Him to go through your tears and mine! I’ve had a lot of serious tears, and I’m only eight years old!”

In that heartbreaking moment, the Lord painted a beautiful picture in my mind. I saw the God of Creation sitting on the throne room floor with Lovie snuggled on His lap. The room shimmered with His glory! In His right hand, He held a beautiful garnet bottle of tears. Gently, He dipped a finger into the bottle. As the tear adhered to His finger, He whispered, “This tear was the first one you cried when you thought your Mama was dying. Remember?” As she nodded solemnly, the tear transformed into a tiny sparkling jewel that He gently placed in her hand. He again dipped His finger into the bottle of tears and said, “But this tear was when Mama came home from her Covid hospital stay just 3 minutes before your birthday as you had asked Me!” Again, the tear morphed into another sparkling treasure. I saw the Father gently going through her life, recounting the tears and the times. Each tear turned into a beautiful gem. Slowly, as the minutes turned into hours, the sacred bottle of tears began to empty. In exchange, Lovie’s collection of precious gemlets increased.

At last, the Father looked into her eyes and said, “And now, I will wipe away all the tears from your eyes, my daughter. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.” With an incomprehensible love, the Father’s thumb gently stroked her face, wiping away her final tear. Slowly, Lovie rose and carefully placed her tear-made jewels into the metal framework of a sparkling golden crown. With reverence, gratitude, and honor, she slowly turned to the Son and offered her crown at His feet.

“You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory, honor, and power,”[3] she said while bowing before her Jesus, who had carried her through all the tears and brought her safely across the river.

“Well done, my daughter, a good and faithful servant,” Jesus said as He outstretched His nail-pierced hands to her. “Enter into the joy of your Lord.”[4]

Oh, my friend! While others may forget our tears, our God treasures each one. While society may tell us it’s time to move on, our Father is intimately aware of our sorrow. He never forgets; we can trust His never-ending care even in the flood of tears. He is a Friend who offers a personal, connected, and deep relationship. Not only did He create the world, but He also continues to have a vested interest in our lives.

“You know how troubled I am,” David says. “You put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”[5] And our Lord gently whispers back, “Yes, I know your tears. I am holding them safe until you exchange them for jewels fit for the King. I know your pang-filled story. Never do I grow weary of your trauma narrative. Let the tears fall. Let the words rush out. Turn to Me. Each tear is received as a sacred offering of your faith.”

Until the next Wednesday's Whisper of Hope,

[1] Unknown Author [2] University of South Alabama Hospital [3] Revelation 4:10-11 [4] Matthew 25:21 [5] Psalm 56:8; ESV and ERV Translations