Saturday, December 15, 2012


This morning it is raining.
And while I know that this city is miles away from yesterday's town tragedy,
the heartbreak is surpassing state boundaries, falling on each roof top in a steady, sorrowful rhythm.

I think God is weeping. I know that is a grand statement to make. Some could make arguments against it, attributing my linking of the weather to worldly devastation as a childish literary device. But I disagree.

Scripture shows us over and over again the God we serve. He is a God who weeps over the death of one, cries out for a nation who He knows in days will crucify him, and tells his disciples to have empathy with those who are hurting.

The sky and sea belong to this great Comforter and I know he feels it. So I watch the rain fall and ask Him so many questions between silent tears of my own.

The fears and cries ascend to Him from everywhere.
Mine are not new.

A dark morning passes by in mourning...
The final question: What is to come, Lord Jesus?

Answered only by a lifting of my head to see our Nativity scene, with the word Emmanuel written beneath in chalk.

So it is.
And so we hold fast to this word more than ever.

Several Christmases ago I was led to pen the words below.
He called these words to mind, and I feel compelled to add one more stanza.

to the woman on the street-
smoking the dying embers of a cigarette
looking for the smallest trace of warmth...


to the downtown shoppers, with designer names and dreams, carrying all the anxiety of deadlines, of schedules,and of coming up short..


to the husband, looking into blue eyes of a best friend who doesn't remember.
Doesn't remember the date, doesn't remember watercolor paints,and doesn't remember the names of their children...


to the broken families, staring at where they would sit if they ever chose to come- meals divided over broken trust and broken hearts...


to the older brother and his sleeping sister,her white hands on white sheets, exhausted with the fight...


to the children singing with their bells, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, not knowing of the corrupt times in which they ring...


to the foreigner, miles away from his family, and worlds away from knowing his true Home...


to the doctor, silently bearing the grief and stoically bridging the void for three years since his passing, fighting back tears as she lays out the gifts alone...


to the soldier over seas, making the honorable commitment of a man while still being very much a boy...


to his mother and the loss of which she does not yet know.


to the career woman, alone on her catalog living room floor, with her catalog wine glass, and her catalog sweater, weeping over the things she cannot buy...


to the Honduran people. to the fatherless families crowding into their one room homes for one meal, wishing for one thing...


to the mothers whose very hearts were taken in blood, and the fathers whose angels now sing in heaven, back from school embraces ripped away by bullets


to all the weary travelers.
to all the broken vessels.
to all the empty hearts.




the darkness does not win,
nor does it understand,
how in the midst of so much sadness
true Light has entered in.

This Christmas I will cling to my God/Man Savior, who came to earth in the form of a babe for this very present darkness. I will cling to Him and think of this season, the promise that came. I will cling to Him and think of Easter, the promise that died and rose again. And I will cling to Him and think of tomorrow, and the promise that He. is. coming.


jacs23 said...

you are a beautiful writer. this brought tears to my eyes. thanks for sharing shmess. praying with you ....and all those beginning a new day filled with great sorrow. ><>

Laura Ann said...

so beautiful!