The God who weeps with us
I glance across the Barnes & Noble cafe just in time to catch a sweet exchange.
One woman hands several matted paintings across the table to another; the recipient’s eyes widen and her hand flies to cover her mouth.
I’m trying to be discreet, but I can’t tear my eyes away as I watch familiar emotions dance across her face. Her eyes fill with tears as her hand now settles on her chest and her gaze roves across the paintings. She tilts them enough that I can see the portrait they convey and piece together that she’s lost a beloved pet and this stranger has painted his likeness in a surprisingly accurate way. I read the emotions across her face like a sentence: How did you manage to get it just right? I didn’t even know how much I needed this.
The two women hug good-bye and go their separate ways. The exchange is over almost as quickly as it has begun.
And yet, this is the image that springs to my mind, weeks later, as my husband describes his recent one-on-one time with my Dad.
They sat, just the two of them, and shared their hearts. As my husband relayed to me the way he felt as he walked away from that time, he remembered the gift my Dad had given him.
My husband had shared, yet again, how we’re struggling to cope with the indefinite waiting season we’re in. Our hearts are heavy and hurting so much of the time and it’s rare that we’re not wondering: why, when, how?
As my husband remembers it, my Dad’s eyes filled with deeply empathetic tears. In that way a father who desperately loves his kids does, my Dad met my husband's gaze. His heart hurt, maybe just as much as ours did, that His love for us didn’t afford him the power to grant this desire of ours. But oh how he wanted to, maybe more than he wanted most things. In a moment, he entered into our grief, shared it with us, and blessed us both with the gift of his presence and tears.
In the middle of this season, I often find that my hands fly to my mouth, eyes suddenly wide with surprise. How did the Lord know I needed joy just like that? How did He manage to minister to me so precisely? When the unwanted, unexpected, and unknown circumstances tempt me to expect nothing good ahead, I am often caught bewildered by the gifts of God.
How could He have known that my Dad’s tears for and with us would speak of His character more than any other?
The answer feels simpler than it should be for the tumultuous way suffering wages war in our hearts, but it is Truth nonetheless.
He is God.
And if our hurt moved my earthly Dad’s heart like that, I could only imagine how much more it must move my Heavenly Father’s.
The Truth is that in the absence of fulfillment to those things for which we’re asking - God is never absent. His Spirit is ever present; His heart is ever moved toward us; His gaze never leaves our faces.
Every single blessing and demonstration of faithfulness speaks to who God is. His very nature is to redeem, restore, heal, and bring life to the barren wastelands.
I am currently sitting in the same waiting room as many of you. It doesn’t matter what restoration or healing for which we’re each aching. Our suffering allows us to experience the tenderest parts of the heart of God. Sometimes, His blessings over us come as eyes wet with tears when He weeps with us.
At the same time, His faithfulness throughout generations is reminding us that even when it seems like He’s not, He is always working. Every good and perfect gift comes from the bottomless storehouse of Heaven.
I am prone to forget it. Blessedly, as I keep my eyes trained on His face and my gaze ever looking for Him to reveal Himself, I never forget for long.
May we each grow less and less surprised by the perfection of His gifts and overflow all the more with deep gratitude for what He does and who He is.
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