Last Sunday I wrote these words, as I struggled.
This Sunday I’ve had the better kind of tears.
Whichever way they come, I feel that they are all a part of His Amazing Grace being poured out on this journey as we learn one lesson at a time.
They run. They take a fleeting pause to mingle with mascara, concealer, eye-shadow.
The salty compound trembles down warm skin.
On bright sunny Sundays the chances of these tears are slim, right?
But really, in Sunday finest, aren’t they most likely?
Somewhere deep down, I’m sure of it.
I’m sure that 90+% of “together-people” find themselves utterly undone,
…in the minutes before church,
…in the time that follows it
Imperfections are uncovered.
Dark circles under eyes are unveiled.
Would the simpleton say these tears are a beautiful reality?
Or would they say they are just misfortune?
Can’t they be BOTH?
Can’t they be a part of the sweet and bitter providence that is every moment?
That balance that is salt and sweet and a flavor all to it’s own? How can you put it to words?
Whether we love it or hate it, it’s the flavor in the air that we breathe and…