This reminds of what the Psalmist said, "Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning."
I once encountered the presence of God in a monastary in Russia, no people saying anything, no outside stimulation, only that indefinable Presence, and I wept uncontrolllably. I will never forget it.
Goodness. This was lovely. I've often wondered why I cry at the happy things. The beautiful things. I cry at life. Certainly, I cry at death as well, but we all understand that. I cry at that new life coming into our world. At that piece of prose. That stanza of poetry that just hits differently.
Yesterday, looking out the kitchen window, I saw a squirrel struggling upside down on a wire too insubstantial for it to traverse it upright. The little thing struggled along in obvious desperation, looking down from time to time at the stone patio about 15 feet below the wire, clearly assessing whether letting go would be a disaster. Finally, after about a minute, it was close enough to a more substantial wire to jump over and turn upright. Just watching its courage and final overcoming brought me to tears.
I love this piece. I've been reflecting on the role of crying--more specificially, weeping--recently. Weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15. I'm trying to understand what that really means and what it looks like in real life.
This reminds of what the Psalmist said, "Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning."
I once encountered the presence of God in a monastary in Russia, no people saying anything, no outside stimulation, only that indefinable Presence, and I wept uncontrolllably. I will never forget it.
“…as if our soul incarnates in salty tears.”
Fantastic imagery.
Goodness. This was lovely. I've often wondered why I cry at the happy things. The beautiful things. I cry at life. Certainly, I cry at death as well, but we all understand that. I cry at that new life coming into our world. At that piece of prose. That stanza of poetry that just hits differently.
Thank you for this. I have no more words.
Yesterday, looking out the kitchen window, I saw a squirrel struggling upside down on a wire too insubstantial for it to traverse it upright. The little thing struggled along in obvious desperation, looking down from time to time at the stone patio about 15 feet below the wire, clearly assessing whether letting go would be a disaster. Finally, after about a minute, it was close enough to a more substantial wire to jump over and turn upright. Just watching its courage and final overcoming brought me to tears.
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing Tim. It’s those little things that hold universes of meaning.
I love this piece. I've been reflecting on the role of crying--more specificially, weeping--recently. Weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15. I'm trying to understand what that really means and what it looks like in real life.