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I am a mess, a weeping mess overwhelmed with the pain of this world. I scroll through the feeds & come across a beautiful video full of truth. The actor lays out his heart, his whole heart for the world to see. And I pray that he will know that Jesus is real. I read the news that a performer has died, his songs digging up memories from a time I like to keep buried. Tears form with fond memories too; his voice & my own little song that I wrote based off one of his.

A text comes through asking for prayer for a young one. One I only know through a story of all that has happened to her. Her story gets darker & my heart breaks wide open. I cannot contain the weeping. I'm out in my backyard office. What if the neighbors hear me? (It wouldn't be the first time.) What if the painter in my house sees? I weep & in my heart I beg Jesus to help me. My mind goes back to the paintings of Jesus I just saw in the video. His eyes heal. "Jesus, please come heal. Heal the actor's heart, the little one's body & soul, all the ones that broke my heart open in Chicago hiding behind their cardboard signs attempting to explain their lives. Heal my friends & their babies. Heal it all, all the pain that is overwhelming my heart. Please take it away. I don't want to cry anymore."

And all this, it's a drop in the bucket! My brain cannot even go to all the rest of the world. All I can cry is Jesus. My office doesn't have a tissue box, only the vintage table cloth, so I must venture into my house. Can I get by the painter without him seeing my snotty face?

And then Jesus comes softly. I notice the trashes need emptying, so I empty them. The pans from Monday's dinner still need to be cleaned. Baked-on butter & olive oil must be scoured from my glass baking pans. So I scour, and I hear Him whisper, "This you can fix. Keep scrubbing, they will come clean. You know I've already told you that in this world there will be trouble. Take heart, dear one, I HAVE OVERCOME the world. I know part of your heartache is that you know I could have stopped it all & that I can fix it all. You know I'm working through it all too. You do what's in front of you. Keep talking to me. Keep writing. Keep scrubbing. Keep knitting & crocheting. Keep trusting me. I love you & I love them. And never stop weeping for them."

So I write it all out & ponder if I am to share this. Fern, my tattered & torn squirrel sits at the feeder. I can feed her, so I do. And I exhale. I exhale knowing that God doesn't have to explain anything to me. Yet, He meets me every time, each day. He invites me into the pain so I pray. And maybe, somehow, it comforts somebody to know that I am weeping with them. And He gives me things I can do when I feel so very helpless. He meets me – comes to me – every single day. I am grateful.

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