Sabbatical Day 19 

I remember how you used to pray in Sunday school. You were always so eloquent and genuine. You were the same those times you prayed with me (and Julie) in my living room floor. Those were special times. You and the deGraffenrieds and the Littles (and of course Jason) were the foundation of my experience in "where two or three are gathered" (between our weekly morning "mom prayer" and our Wednesday nights). 

We'd pray for our children. We'd pray for your children and your grandchildren too. We didn't need coffee, or even chairs. Sometimes we'd just sit in my living room floor. But there's one part of our prayer time that sticks out in my memory. 

You almost ALWAYS cried. 

It didn't seem to matter how heavy the prayer request was. Sometimes we'd be praying about something happy and it would be your turn to chime in.  I'd feel that pause...like you were trying to gain your composure (you weren't very good at that). You'd pray in that shaky voice.  

I remember wondering if you were over emotional or if I was under emotional (Was it hormones?).  I was sure I cared about the prayer matter with an equal measure, but I prayed dry-eyed and without my voice breaking from sobbing. 

I'm pretty sure there were other times I caught you misty-eyed when we weren't even praying!

The point is, I just wanted to let you know that I now have the "leaky eye/lose my composure over nothing" problem. 
I can't exactly remember when it started, though it's definitely become exaggerated since Jason and I have had teenagers. Of course I cried almost the entire year, two years ago during Hayden's senior year. 

I cry when my kids go through tough times. I cry at every milestone.  I guess everybody does that. I did that back when we were praying together.  

It's the seemingly mundane things that oddly choke me up these days. I think maybe you understand. 

You've probably heard me mention that Jason (and the kids and I) are on sabbatical in Colorado. I don't know if it's the cottonwood seeds getting in my eyes or what, but I've been downright weepy. 

Take this morning for instance. Jason and the girls and I were walking to a little country church for Sunday morning service. I saw an older gentleman holding his bible walking ahead of us. Mist gathered in the outside corners of both of my eyes. 

My left eye leaked during How Great Thou Art AND during In The Sweet By and By. And that was just today. 

(Hallie sat beside me. I think she's probably worried.)

Three days ago I had to gather my composure on the streets of Creede because I just so happened to stumble across a picture on Facebook that my niece had put up of the joined hands of most of the important women in my life. In my defense, she'd written something sappy underneath. 

Two days before that, I managed to dam up tears as I watched my mom and dad dance. It was my mom's first time to dance, EVER. To make it even sweeter, practically every family member took a shot on the dance floor (half having no idea what they were doing).  The sight of that?...Again, my eyelids hosted tears of joy. 

That's it! Tears of joy. Those are some of the tears I think you cried those many years ago when we prayed. 

They were tears and emotion that came from a deep well; one that can only be drawn from when a person has been in deep places. 

 They're tears from the heart of one who, in her history, has been pulled up from the pit and placed on a rock. They're grateful tears. 

They're tears of joy at the opportunity to collect a new memory for the box of treasured remembrances. 

Strange tears appear out of the blue as God grows my heart, making room to take in the simple, to better see it how He sees it, as beautiful and miraculous. 

Thank you for all those tears that  were shed because of a steadfast love for our children. I'm confident those tears were rooted in a gratitude for what you'd already seen God do and in trust for what you knew He'd do. 

Your Cry Pal, 

Kristi