Written In The Midst Of Teardrops
Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Lament and mourn and weep! Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up” (James 4:8-10, NKJV).

What is it that you are looking for? You toss to and fro feverishly in your bed at night. Your bed sheets are saturated with salt water that pours from every orifice. Night sweats accompany you with the unwelcome presence of insecurity and nervousness. The sleep aid you took has rendered your body into a drug-induced indolence, yet you cannot take a rest. Your spirit begins to bawl uncontrollably, and your soul begins to screech mercilessly. Something is chasing you. You keep running, but your legs have given up. You cannot take another step. You crumble to your knees with the intent of drowning in a pool of obscurity. And a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

What has got you running scared? You are afraid to look forward, and even more petrified to turn around. The walls are seemingly closing in on every side. You become acquainted with such friendly company as antidepressants, liquor and sex, but none of it offers any solace. The sex becomes more intense, the liquor becomes stronger and the pills take their toll. Your heartbeat pulsates at record speeds, and follicles of your hair clog up the sink. The beauty that once was has turned into a portrait of depression and pretense. After the last pill is swallowed and the last drop of booze is ingested, you find yourself curled up in a cold, dark corner. And a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

What secrets haunt your every step? You skulk around, covered in shame and lavished in a bouquet of disgrace. Oceans of life and laughter are all around, yet you are dying in a sea of silence. The images in your head seemingly have a nonstop replay button, and your mind occasionally presses rewind, just for good measure. You tiptoe around as if you are afraid to awaken the dead out of their graves. You do not want to be seen, and you do everything to hide the aroma of mystery that shrouds your life. Exposure is beckoning you softly, but absolute discretion is calling for you even louder. You are everyone's sounding board, yet you find confidence in no one. There are many bodies around, yet there is nobody around. You see the abyss beneath your feet, and the descent begins. You are falling faster…and faster…and faster. And a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

Who robbed you of your smile? The mere touch of that person was enough to penetrate every defense mechanism that you have created. As you stared deeply into the windows of that person's soul, every wall and barrier collapsed immediately. One kiss from that person caused a nuclear spark within the confines of your heart. The sheer heat generated from a sweet caress melts every glacier that was formed by the coldness of life. Suddenly, it ends. Gone is the touch that tormented your nightmares and caused all of the doubt to end. Gone are the eyes that watched you conquer every enemy and gazed at you with loving intent. Gone are the kisses that set your soul ablaze and caused your shadow to stand at attention. The caress that once was sweet and delicate has been replaced with threadbare linens that irritate the skin. You cannot see your way clear, and you think there is nothing left to live for. The knife is within arm's length, and you grab it. One slit of the wrist becomes two, and the blood gushes from your veins. You fall to the floor in a dizzied state, staring death in the face. And a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

The teardrop continues rolling down your cheek. Heavenly alarms begin to sound, and an S.O.S. is received. The teardrop makes its final approach towards the ground, but He suddenly catches it. In the palm of His hand is a drop of water, crying out a sound that only He can hear. Something as seemingly insignificant as a teardrop has gotten the attention of El Shaddai, “The God Who is Sufficient for the Needs of His People.” He gently wipes away the remains of a teardrop that caused Heaven to be moved and the earth to be shaken. He dries His hand and cleanses away every fault, every doubt, every fear and every anxiety.

You get off of your knees and take a step. You feel a little off kilter at first, but your strength is returning. That first step turns into a brisk stride. The wind in your lungs return, and the pool of obscurity has dried up. You pick up the pace, and the stride becomes a jog. Your confidence has come back, and there is nothing to stop you from reaching the finish line. The jog rapidly turns into a full-on sprint, and the LORD is the anchor that helps you run the race!

You stagger out of that dark and musty corner. The light of the LORD causes itself to shine in your eyes. At first, you think you are going to go blind because your pupils have yet to adjust. As the light continues to gleam, your eyes adjust to the boldness and brightness of the LORD. Your eyes take aim at the pill bottles and liquor cabinet that has plagued your being. You get the garbage can, and violently toss every pill into it. You grab every bottle of liquor and attempt to give the sink a hangover. You pick up the phone, and declare in a voice of victory that you will never see that sexual partner ever again.

The descent continues, but out of nowhere, a blanket of the LORD appears. It catches you ever so softly before you crash to the ground below. You gather yourself and look up to the sky, from whence came your help. A sense of renewal takes shape in your heart, and a newness of life is created. Silence is killed and a joyful noise is born. The bouquet of disgrace is taken off, and it is replaced with garments of dignity and self-respect. You are alive, and your secrets have passed away.

The blood rushes down your arms, and your strength slowly leaves your body. Death mocks you and threatens to take you away. All of a sudden, a tourniquet is applied, and the bleeding abruptly stops. The shed blood of Jesus Christ is the tourniquet, and His blood was shed so that your bleeding would stop. You pick yourself up off the floor and begin cleaning up. A few bandages are put on, and the healing begins.

The victory is yours and mine…as I write in the midst of teardrops.

Warriorprincess55   Warriorprincess55 wrote
on 5/24/2008 7:03:37 AM
Beautiful! I mean, what else can I say?

writing godswriter777
Journalist, Author and Man On A Mission!
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Victory is yours and mine even as tears roll down your cheek.
Published Date
5/9/2008 12:00:00 AM
Published In
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