“I don’t know why.”

I was ready to answer the question that would come. But, I don’t know if I’d call that an answer. Which made the tears explode and burst onto the scene with more intention.

But he never came and asked, “Why are you crying?” He let me rest. He cleaned the house and went grocery shopping and let me fall into the sleep he knew I needed.

I finally did sleep. Probably because I was exhausted from my trip to Peru. But mostly because I didn’t want to think about why I was crying. I hear that’s really healthy… (note sarcasm, or call me a therapist 🙂 )

Tears bred from confusion light me up. Not with anger. With curiosity. But I did not feel like exploring that night. So I let my mind and heart be handed over to dreaming. I wanted to live, just for a few hours, behind the creases of my eye lids.

Little hands, patient but asking, appear on the stage of my life. Not as props or co-stars or backdrops but as the climax, with great purpose, acting as powerful transitions but revealed to be decisive beginnings. Everything but the ending.

I wonder how many times I escorted them off and welcomed the next scene. The next meal I was to prepare. The next pile of clothes to iron. The next floor to sweep. The next email to check.

I’m tired. But I know I’m not tired like Nicolasa who works 12 hour days to feed her children.

Who climbs a steep hill, rocks escaping from under her feet as she conquers each new step. Who carries buckets and buckets and buckets of water up the hill to her home, because water only comes through a community pump and it only comes every other day.

I’m not that kind of tired.

And then there is Naomi. My heart swollen as I watch her, a child in ever way, dressed in pink just like a little girl should be.

She clung to her mom. And her mom latched on too.

Abandoned by her husband. Left as the sole caretaker for her children. Living in a squatter district in Peru. Surrounded for miles by dust and gray sky. Like the underbelly of a donkey.

Standing in her house, I am reminded of how much I yearn for new Jerusalem for them…for myself too.

I’m ready for the water to break and for all my expectation to give birth to eyes that can look on Him who saves.

I’m waiting for a dusty, corroded mirror to crash taking with it the scales on my eyes and every former thing. I spent my time on earth straining to look through it. Catching glimpses. Being formed by quick impressions.

How can I not always yearn for it? For the mirror to give and burst and produce an opening to Him. The object of my faith. The fulfillment of my love.

I want Him to come back. I want Him to wipe my tears away. But I want to watch Him wipe Naomi’s tears away too. And I want Him to turn to me and thank me for wiping away her tears in the waiting.

Did I wipe away her tears?

I watched her and I prayed in my heart, “Jesus, please come back. Please. Please. Please. Please come back.”

But I know He is patient toward us. Steady. Loving. Waiting.

And I know until then He has someone to wipe away her tears and his tears. All their tears. I know that one of those someone’s is me.

“And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:2-4

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