Tears

“Is she strong?” someone asked about a widowed friend.

Depends on what is meant by strength. Does that mean her heart is an erect wall, able to withstand life’s storms without bending?

Then, no. She’s not strong. She bends. Children love to be encircled in her soft embrace.

Maybe she’s as strong as the cadence in a bass drum, its beat constant at the rear of the band, compelling all the other musicians to march on, keep going, never pausing to rest.

            No. She’s not strong like that. Her broken heart beats a syncopated rhythm now that confuses the rest of the band.

            Will she give up?

            Sometimes.

            Will she long to be with him?

            Always.

Will she be changed in the fire?

No doubt.

            No doubt.

I think strength is a paradox. A woman in labor writhes in pain while her body takes her down a dangerous, frightening road. From the outside, her cries may make her appear weak but as new life emerges, it’s her submission to forces beyond her control that reveal what strength looks like.

I once watched Arizona’s Salt River flow with such intensity it took out a bridge built to span its width. Three times the normal amount of rainfall had filled reservoirs to a dangerous level, and if there was no immediate relief Coolidge Dam would burst. But when authorities released record amounts of pent-up water into the swollen river, it flowed with such force it took with it everything in its path, including that new bridge. Yet, the alternative would have been more deadly. By letting the pressure off, catastrophe was averted.

Was the dam strong?

            Yes.

It was also vulnerable. It does no good to pretend there’s no risk when pressure rises.

Does a tree bow in a storm?

            Yes. That’s how I know there’s storm outside—I see how punishing the wind is. I notice how its leaves shake, and the branches react. But I never question the strength of the oak.

“Is she strong?”

            She will bend in her storm, this friend of mine.

            She’ll cry a river of tears again and again, releasing the pain which will fill her heart - again and again.

            On windy days, she’ll feel shaken, even unstable, to those who watch and wonder. She may think her world is spinning out of control.

            But that’s the illusion of vertigo.

Her heart is broken. She is ravaged by a fiery loss. She may not recognize her world anymore and, on some days, not even herself.

            But she will not fall.

            God is within her and He will help her.*

Is she strong?

            No.

            But she knows Who is.

 

 

*Psalm 46:5