I first wrote six years ago, March 13, on the subject of God’s musings in heaven as he looks down on earth, pondering.
His hand holds a quill, recently dipped in the ink well nearby, and the writing instrument is poised above the journal he keeps.
Upon what is he focused? What will he enter on that page? And with what substance will he write?
His subject is you. The entry concerns grief. And his ink well contains tears. Your tears.
Even tears you haven’t cried yet.
The Psalmist David wrote, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book,” Psalm 56:8.
Little did I realize that very day of March 13, 2018, as I pondered what God must ponder, that he was preparing to write of the death of our little granddaughter.
There were tears then that October. Lots of tears. And heaven took note.
Just last year, on this very day of March 13, I would write about tears in heaven once again.
The occasion then was the pending home going of my wife of 50 years married. She was losing her long battle with cancer.
It was then that I wrote:
Like a dove exhausted from wings beating against the bars of its cage, you find yourself collapsed in your room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself – where her embrace used to be – and there you huddle, alone, imprisoned by your grief.
Lonely is the night.
Then, weary, crying out to God, because that is all you can do, does it matter?
Yes, it does.
God takes notes.
God keeps a journal.
Our tears fill his ink well.
With them he authors our story.
Six days later, the first day of spring, when the beautiful blossoms of the weeping pink cherry trees appear, she left us.
And in the very moment she was greeted in heaven, tears, our tears, stained her pillow.
And were collected, those tears were, in heaven, where God takes note.
