Today, as I came across a video clip of an old song, I realise how the poignant silence of a teardrop leads me to grace.
The Lord touches me in those brief moments where I am at my most fragile. He is there in the pause after I stumble and right before I pick myself up. His breath is my gasp when I hit the brakes to avoid collision with a speeding motorcycle. He is in the middle of a painful experience and the acceptance of its purpose. He comes on the second step on the bicycle pedal as I struggle from my first to keep my balance in motion. He is the skip of my heartbeat when I am in a crisis and right and wrong do not seem to look any different from each other.
And He is in the first tear, right before it forms into a teardrop, as it wells up my eye and causes my voice to quiver slightly, yet unnoticed. In this hesitant moment, I am called to be aware of the love of a God that endures. I finally weep, and the healing begins in the space between my tears.