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.