Tears in a Bottle

About a month ago, a friend gave me a gift.
It was a dream she had - one of those dreams
you know have purpose.

She told me I could do with that dream
as I pleased.

So it has been rolling around
in this writer's head
for some time.

And this is the result.

There was a bottle.
That bottle had one
purpose.

It collected
tears.

The clear glass
gave definition to each
tear
as it rolled down the sides
sweeping into an ocean of
cries
at the bottom.

The bottle
was
never ending -
as were
the
tears.

We
human as we are...
can't seem to stop
the pain from
coming.

So the tears
continue
to fall,
filling the bottle
with relentless fervency.

But
my dear friend
saw something else.

When she took her eyes from
the bottle
and
the tears
and
the pain
and saw Who
was holding it
she came
to a severe
realization.

The bottle
wasn't
bottomless.

The strong
gentle
hands
holding the bottle
were
continually
pouring forth
the tears as they
filled the
bottle.

The tears -

they were
pre-loved pain
pre-worn heartache

pre-used praise.

He -
the bottle holder -
was
distributing the tears...

they weren't for naught.

The pain
had
a
purpose.

And as the tears
continually
permeated
the bottle

they were
repeatedly
falling
in rapid stream
to create

joy
peace
patience
kindness
goodness
faithfulness
mercy
grace

and love.

When she
focused
on the
HANDS
and not the
TEARS
she didn't see
the result
but she saw
the reason.

And added to the
millions
of tears were
HIS OWN.
He cried
and
shared
and
pained as
He poured.

The bottle.
The tears.

A dream worth writing.
A life worth living.
A love worth giving.

The keeper of the tears
understands.

And when I want to text her,
or call him,
or erase that memory,

He holds my tears
and uses them
for good -
no pain is wasted.

Psalm 56:8

New Living Translation (NLT)

⁸ You keep track of all my sorrows.^[a]
    You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
    You have recorded each one in your book.

Ode to a cup of melted cheese

Okay, I will admit it here and now.

I'm addicted to cheese.

In every form. On just about every yucky vegetable (it makes them bearable). In between pieces of bread, on pizza, to dip in, and especially, most especially, on warm, soft, salted pretzels.

Today, I was waiting to meet a colleague over lunch and I was alone in the room - with my very own cup of melted cheese.

When you are a school teacher there are not many options when eating at the school cafeteria. Let's see, there are chicken nuggets, chicken fingers, chicken fries, and chicken patties. And then there is pizza: square, triangle, and sometimes circle. Now, for a kid's food connoisseur like me, those foods are quite possibly two of the most important food groups.

But one day, as I was walking through the line wrinkling my nose at the naked broccoli, I came upon something beautiful spinning in the glass warmer cabinet. There were pretzel sticks, but below them, what did my eyes behold?

Plastic cups of melted cheddar cheese.

Since that day I have faithfully withheld precious Weight Watchers Points to include that pot of gold.

But back to the room, myself, and the cup.

I found that I had finished my entire tray of food waiting for my colleague. And frankly,  there is never enough pretzel to fully finish the cup of cheese.

But why waste a perfectly beautiful portion of melted goodness?

Carpe Diem is certainly one of my many life mottos, and well, I looked up the Latin for cheese and it is caseus. So what did I choose to do?

Carpe Caseus. Seize the cheese.

I took my favorite pointer finger and dug deep into that cup, spooning out every last morsel. I even used the special spin and lift method, spinning my finger into the deepest parts of the cheese in order to get a perfect spiral bite. I licked my finger completely clean, making sure to appreciate the preservative full "really not cheese" stuff. I have to admit, there were a couple burned parts, but I remained true to Carpe Caseus and devoured my deliciousness to completion.

And it made me think about life.
And it made me think about God.
And it made me think about getting more cheese (but I didn't, not enough WW points).

And I made a decision: that's what I want to do - I want to take my fingers and scoop out all the preciousness life has to offer. I want to dig deep into the very marrow that reveals the most life can give and I want to dance with it, celebrate it, wave it around and fill my soul with it.

I want to share it, deliberate on it, pray about it, and talk about it with you.
I want to appreciate the burned parts, the not so good parts, and even though I don't understand how they got there (how can you burn perfectly good fake cheese?), I want to embrace those parts, too.

When I finished the cup and it sat there on my empty tray, I thought about just how enjoyable my cheese experience was, relishing every moment. And someday, when my life is through, I know I will sigh and feel thankful for every scoop, every spin, every lift, every burned part. And I will not be ashamed that I used my fingers, because life is even better when we get our hands dirty and dig in deep.

So, my friends, my wish for you today is Carpe Caseus. Seize the cheese. Take every moment and scrape it out of the cup, let it dance on your tongue and tickle your taste buds. Because our lives are but a blip, a second, a moment, a breath. Annihilate and guzzle that cup of cheese. It's waiting for you.

And save some for me.

The Root

While driving home from the funeral today, I noticed all the bare trees, bereft of leaves. Usually, I miss the beauty of the colors on the branches. But today, it was if Diann tapped me on the shoulder and said,

"Look, Carrie."

I slowed the car, pulled to the side of the street and leaned over my steering wheel. Yes, it was true. Those exposed branches were reaching, stretching, toward heaven. The trees were worshipping - and without the leaves it was more apparent the direction the limbs were pointing. There was nothing inhibiting my view of the naked stretches of bark, grasping the sky.

Suffering does that. It leaves us naked and vulnerable. But ultimately, it reveals who we really are. And I learned that from my friend, Diann Hunt. Even though she was stripped of everything, her health, her ability to eat, her strength, so much of what we humanly crave - it only revealed and lay bare the One she was worshipping. The brokenness and suffering she endured only further exposed the One who agonized the most - the One whose agony means we will suffer no more one day...that she suffers no more - RIGHT NOW.

I smiled as Jesus showed me the beauty in those brittle branches, because no matter how deep the temperature of this frigid winter decides to drop, those branches will keep pulling toward the sun. They will stand unprotected and leafless, bared before the world.

Because those branches know they have nothing to do with their survival. They know where their source is: the roots. The roots will continue to dig deeper, holding strong and carrying the rest of the tree through the suffering days of freezing ice and blasting wind.

There is such beauty in the broken and suffering who are willing to allow God to use the agonizing moments to reveal their unashamed worship. Because, like Diann, they do not have to be afraid.

They know who their Root is.

Traci

That night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

how many months
had passed?

she had
suffered
and
waited

and bought beautiful hats

she had
praised
and waited

and loved on her little girl as she left for college.

everyone
watched

as she didn't let the disease win.

purple
bracelets
and
purple
toes
and
purple
clothes
in honor of her gracious fight.

people
partied
in pre-chemo honor
as she
celebrated through the pain.

that night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

And the
healing power
of a
mighty God
stormed in
like an
indomitable
tornado
swirling through
her body
and
cleansing her soul.

the next day
after
ten women gathered
to pray

the doctor's words
swept her world
like a vigorous wind
and those waiting in the wings heard

SHRUNK.
MERCY.
BLESSING.

The beauty of the broken
flies in the face of
discouragement
doubt
and
disease.

The beauty of the broken
purifies the darkness
and tears away
fear
and is
never
forsaken.

The beauty of her brokenness
lifts the heart
of the
faithful
to see the
peace in the storm.

Party on,
sweet Traci.

Ten women
and
hundreds of others
continue
to pray.

Diann

It's rare

Someone whose very name
even when spoken softly
spreads life like wildfire.

It's immediate

because that name
floods the mind with memories
and fills it up until the ocean o v e r f l o w s
and tears fall.

It's unusual

Someone whose suffering has penetrated
the hearts of thousands
bolstered the prayer life
of hundreds
inspired courage through
ENcouragement.

She breathes beauty
as her broken body
belabors
and
braves
the disease infiltrating her being.

But her
basest response?

Praise.

Her hands
outstretched in purest
simplest
love of the Father
push through the darkness
and shine
reckless abandon as she
TRUSTS
and
FOLLOWS
and
quietly
SERVES
in the midst of
the agony and despair of earthly sorrow.

She dons a blonde wig
and
smiles
as c o u n t l e s s
sit at her feet
and learn
that
God doesn't waste a hurt.

She answers the phone
and
whispers
through nauseous fog
and the love
of Jesus
penetrates the soul.

She cries out in pain
and her Father
kneels down,
softly holding
her close:
peace in the midst
of
heartbreak.

She
is
a
warrior.

And a host
of those infected
by her humility
stand at her side
weapons drawn and ready

Sending powerful prayer
to heaven for
HEALING.

He has not forsaken her.
Her brokenness is not forgotten.
Her beauty reaches a nation of writers
and I
lift a pen in honor

of
Diann.

A heartbreaking post

To the student who wrote that heartbreaking journal entry:

I cried over you.
Yes, I cried.

I'm sorry your friends aren't your friends.
I'm sorry they call you
pizza face
fat
hideous
tub of lard
stutter-a-lot.

I want to get on the school's speaker system
and announce to the entire
student population that
you.
are.
valuable.

I want to rewrite
popular
in the dictionary
and
move the students around
like scrabble pieces
putting
U
in a safe place

I want to walk by you to every class
//a bodyguard//
and whisper all the TRUE things about you
you don't even know

I want to fix your kindle
shattered because some kid
stuck his leg out
and tripped you

I want to snap my fingers
and see a magical
force field dome
surround you, protecting you
from the words
that pierce like sticks
and bruise like stones.

On behalf of the world
I say
sorry.
On behalf of the hurting
who strike out
at the less fortunate because
they often don't strike back
I say
sorry.

I want to hold up the true
MIRROR
and show you who you
really are.

But I feel helpless
my hands reaching
and finding
empty
because
what
can
I
do?

Right now
Outside my classroom
In the hallway
In the lunch room
WHEN I'M NOT THERE???

What I can do
while you are
"alone in solitude
spending weekends with
yourself"

is pray for you.

I will defend you
to the heavens
and pray for all the things
you wrote
the things you feel
you don't have
won't have
can't have.

Someone will love you
(He already does)
Someone will appreciate you
(He already does)
Someone will stick up for you
(Oh, how He wants to vindicate you)
and

this teacher
whose eyes are now open
will
pray
defend
lift up
be sensitive
and
protect you as best she can

in the safety of a
Holy Spirit filled room

and join forces with heaven
that you can know
who you are:

PRICELESS.

A Shattered Windshield

In college I had a little car named Song  94. It was a black Ford Tempo and I loved it. Newly engaged, Brady and I tooled around Kankakee in that car, listening to mix tapes and drinking two liters of Diet Mountain Lightening. It was a great little car.

One day Brady and I were hanging out in the car, talking. I had my feet on the dash and Brady was in the driver's seat. Without much consideration, I wondered what would happen to the windshield if I straightened my legs. So I tried it.

Immediately and with no notice, the entire windshield shattered into a thousand spider webbed pieces. They stayed together, but it was like my windshield had morphed into a mosaic of broken glass.

I will never forget Brady's reaction. He turned his head slowly toward me and said, "I can't afford you."

Of course, the phone call to Dad had to be made and I had to pay for a used replacement windshield. But as I reminisced on this story I started thinking about the life applications.

How many times do we make decisions "without much consideration" or "immediately and with no notice?" As I'm learning about a life of prayer and ceaseless communication with our Savior I'm learning there should always be consideration and prayer - and there should always be the willingness to wait until God speaks.

Waiting is never easy. But I'm sure if I would have even waited one more second before making the decision to straighten my long legs, I would not have lost $75 of my well-earned college dollars on a used windshield.

But not all decisions can be fixed that quickly. Many take a lifetime to recover and we try to make them in our own strength, with no waiting, no back up, no prayer.

The practice of prayer will change our habits and our lifestyles - but will also often result in less regret because we will consider the Father and not just our own selfish wishes.

Hm. Thankful an old memory brought me new enlightenment tonight. I pray that I can continue to consider what Jesus would do before...well, let's just say Brady really likes his truck windshield.