Beautiful daughter, I wonder if you've ever looked through your own tears, and caught a sparkle. The light refracted on the wet of your eyelashes, bent and glimmering as though they were diamonds. Your tears are a treasure, falling into the hands of the One who made them.
In the last several years, I have elbowed my way through discontentment. I've tried to find the words to say that, though I'm grateful for the blessings, I thought there would be more. And then my sadness became my shame, because by comparison, I haven't suffered at all. Seemingly endless scrolls could be written of His grace unto me, and so I tried to hold in the tears I felt I didn't deserve. They sparkled more.
I led praise and worship at a women's even a few weekends ago. Mercy had asked me to learn this song, which I agreed to play as part of worship, but I still can't get through without crying. "You know me, oh, oh, oh." Is "Oh" what we say when we don't know what to say? Is "Oh" the word to fill in the gut-feeling for whatever we want that's the "more" in our lives? "Oh" is, I hope, deep calling unto deep.
Maybe there's a part of me I don't understand yet, and it's that part of me that cries out. The parts of me I can name are ashamed that I don't always feel the peace. But then again, the peace is supposed to surpass all understanding, so maybe it's normal I can't feel it now. And every time the diamonds fall from my eyes, it's scraping some of the disruption out from my soul, smoothing out its edges, transforming it into a treasure that I might one day be able to hand over proudly. "Here is me," and I cast it at His feet.
So much inward focus in our culture now; the importance of self-actualization. Vulnerability, meant to be freeing, turned into a checklist of self-understanding, with no thought or concern for the others passing through our lives. I get it. It's scary to not know yourself all the way; and yet: "You know when I rise and when I fall/When I come or go/You see it all/You hung the stars and you move the seas/And still you know me." I sat in the car on the morning of the worship event, meditating on the words and receiving the balm they were to my heart in that moment. And then a man in torn clothes with ragged hair and a dirty overcoat walked by my window. "You know me," the music played. You know him, I thought.
In me are unnamed depths. My soul is cavernous, and I will spend a lifetime exploring it. No wonder I am ever in search more. But He knows all its topography, its surprising and dangerous crevices. This man, I thought, watching him limp down the sidewalk, He knows like that too. And perhaps our sufferings look different on the outside, but for the All-Knowing, it is the same treasure. And our pain and our searching and our pleading can all blend together into the treasure store, a shining, brilliant collection of rare jewels, each one a part of us, like we are each a part of Him.
And we can all say "Oh." My deep calls out, and your deep calls out, and He can sit in our soul caves, where the acoustics are best, and know exactly what the "Oh" means, even when we do not.