I've cried this week. Shed a few more tears than usual.

I've shed tears for seven little girls in an Amish schoolhouse. Tears falling in my cereal, welling up and pouring out all over my breakfast.

I've shed tears for a client who has more pain than anyone should have to bear.

I've cried for those whom God created for Himself, but who choose to partner with the devil instead.

I've cried for hearts laid bare before the Lord and me in a counseling room, and the awesome power of Scripture to comfort and heal and break and stretch and battle and shape.

I've cried just thinking about a God who chooses to use me in a person's tranformation process.

And tears over my own process, and the two steps forward, one step backward movements I make, and the patience of God with my slow progress.

And I've cried at the joy of expressing myself creatively again. Of dancing again.

And the tears of amazement that God would grant me a job in a church before even graduating seminary.

That he would use me, and provide for my financial needs, that he would know my gifts, my loves, my desires, and would pour out His goodness over and over even as I have doubted it over and over.

And it seems the older I get, the more I cry.

And, in a way, I am glad. I feel more alive when I cry.

And despite the tears of sadness, and anger, and outrage at the choas of the world, I can't help but feel like my eyes have been opened like Elisha's servant to whom Elisha said, "Don't be afraid, for there are more on our side than are on theirs." Whose eyes were opened to see a great army of the Lord, the hope of the Lord, the love of God from which nothing can separate us.

And that's why I cry more tears of hope and beauty than of sadness and rage.

So I'll keep crying, and keep living, and keep hoping.