When Tears Fall

It was picture perfect weather for Mothers’ Day. Dean and my mom exchanged playful banter and melodies as we ambled toward the front of the church. We stopped to greet Mrs. Wilburn who had been a friend of my mom’s for more than four decades.

There was an understated sophistication and beauty about the sanctuary that was painted off-white. The design of the room gave intentional reverence to the altar, which was the center and the focal point of the rectangular room. Stained wooden pews were in rows of four or five on every side. We passed the full immersion baptismal that was inlaid into the floor as we walked to where my sister was seated.

Once situated, I noted the glass windows had been replaced with stained glass. They were at the tops of the cinder block walls and were approximately 2 to 3 feet in width. Each panel depicted a scene from the stations of the cross. The colors were lovely and seemed to be pastels as I quickly assessed the ambiance of such a sacred room.

A single violin, piano and guitar were the accompaniment for the choir. My heart was happy to see the youthful age of the violinist. Everything about the worship was powerful. I consciously tucked my hands in my back pockets so that my typically demonstrative worship would not stand out as showy to the parishioners. I was a guest in this congregation. Though my hands took refuge, my spirit soared in the worship. The readers came and read scripture. There was a response Psalm. We knelt and stood at appropriate times. Then, the priest approached the lectern to deliver the sermon.

He gave an amazing analogy, a story of a mother saving her son’s life from the grip of an alligator. It was a compelling and powerful narrative. At some point he mentioned a sentiment that could have gone unnoticed to other moms. He said, “And some mothers have even lost their children.” For me, this struck deeply at the heart of my life. Without conscious thought, those words queued an immediate response of deep loss just as quickly as a person turns on the lights when entering a room. The tears fell unwelcomed, yet consistently. I nudged my husband for one of his handkerchiefs. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I pondered earnestly if this crying would ever cease. How could I stop something I had no part in initiating? I felt helpless. I conceded, allowing the pain to wash over me and I reconciled with the idea that if this continued, or even worsened, I would just go with it. I wasn’t going to halt what Holy Spirit was doing. To my amazement the sorrow ceased and joy flooded my heart. I could see in the spirit, like in a dream, my daughter, Carly bearing an assortment of brilliant flowers of purple, yellow, pink and orange. The bouquet was so huge and the colors so compelling that I almost missed her little head with her unruly, lively curls. I spied the plain white card that said, “I love you Mom.” This very special, encounter exacted more tears. I kissed her little head and said, ” Thank you. Love you!” Just that quickly all of it ended. 

Everything about Mothers’ Day was special from the card game with my two adult daughters on Saturday night, to visiting with my mother-in-law and rubbing shoulders with several of my bonus kids, to having a family dinner at my Mom’s on Sunday night. It’s a beautiful thing to have children and family nearby! I am abundantly blessed. Equally, I am grateful for the reminder at church that heaven is for real, the spiritual realm is in reality more active than this world, and this old dusty earth is not our final home.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18 For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the the things which are not seen are eternal.