Fat tears fall harder…
as if they hold more weight…as if they came from a deeper well of stored up shouts and unkind words, silence and washed out wishes…
cowardly prayers dipped in doubt.
Some are yours. You know you stuffed them there. And others dove in before you could stop them right out your closest’s mouth. And together they rose higher and higher inside that pain well sloshing around a bit … unnoticeable as they were… like the lulled sloshing of waves against wet sand making something that had once left its mark disappear.
Like the familiar things that set rhythm and sweet safeness to a relationship. The mysterious things like the arched curve of two pairs of feet that tread miles of shore in step with each other. Or deepened the imprints of a mattress with weight and heat side by side. Or someone you once knew and have missed every day even when you can’t really remember what you’re missing because what you think you miss is really an unanswered future wish.
sometimes these things get erased in the waves for a while.
Sometimes we don’t hear the sound or notice their disappearance until the big waves finally crash in,
….and so it is with fat tears. They sort of just come crashing. They aren’t even nice about trickling out eye corners or sliding down the high bone of our cheeks gracefully as if the destination they were aiming for somehow made the journey more glamorous. No. Fat. Big. Tears….just fall hard and they fall fast. It’s like they jump off that tiny lower ridge trying desperately to hold them back, but their force is too great. Because if they stayed in that deep sloshing heart-well your spirit would drown. It doesn’t matter where you are when the pain dam breaks. No, pain isn’t kind to social settings or polite enough to think of those it may make uneasy when they see it. Pain just stores itself up in that well reserved for things I’ve gotten over and things that aren’t supposed to matter anymore, and overflows when you least expect it. You expected you were over this….
And you really thought you were. But the fat ones,
they tell a different story.
Do you ever notice how someone else’s joy can deepen your pain? In a way that makes the most mature of us, the ones who have walked with Jesus more years than we singled it, barely wait to be able to see God and ask Him a thousand questions about our suffering. Yet we wait…
we wait more than the watchman waits for the morning (Psalm 130).
we wait because no eye has seen nor ear has heard any God besides You who acts on behalf of those who wait wait for Him. (Isaiah 64:4).
We wait because there is transformation in the waiting. A glorious becoming…that looks more and more like Jesus as we behold Him…
through fat tears (2nd Corinthians 3:18).
We wait because it renews our strength (Isiah 40).
we wait because Christ waited and God is long suffering towards us and wishes that no one should perish.
We wait without answers so the answers we were never looking for are found while we wait in the pages of His Word where our eyes fall on words like Hope, and Faith, that hold far more virtue than knowing why now.
We wait because waiting ignites prayer.
And prayer steadies the soul.
And in the waiting we find His faithfulness. His faithfulness in a spouse who though may not understand us, and may be one of the closests who wounds us from time to time, still lets those fat tears fall..ten years falling and doesn’t seem to tire of them but gently prays to the rhythm of their dropping.
And in the waiting we learn that the joy well goes deeper than the pain well because His gaze feels hotter on us in our pain and His scent is sweeter to us…and we wake to that aroma that is thick and heavy and carries with it the weight of His presence.
Its warmer in the waiting because that robe of righteousness wraps us a bit tighter, and an unspeakable peace blankets us as the Holy Spirit wraps Himself around us like a warm autumn wind.
and in the waiting we once again unpack those heavy burdens, that stayed a bit too long this time, and hand them over to the One who joyfully exchanges them for heaps and heaps of this thing called grace.
And grace raises our eyes until they are once again locked in perfect Love.
Those fat tears? I suspect they’ll be back from time to time. Our theme that runs through our story here and now runs broken. But it’s a holy broken woven into a grander story, and it looks more and more like the One who holds every single tear in a bottle,
even the fat ones.