God Speaks Tears

A little good and a little bad in everything, right?

Before I think about the bad, I feel compelled to give thanks for the good, which is that we left home yesterday morning, with our tired, wind-damaged roof hovering over our home, and by the time we came home, a handful of men were hauling ladders to a van and a gorgeous new roof sparkled above us. We had some wind damage last fall when the tornado came through Marion. We weren't hit, but the superfluous winds that came over our property took a number of shingles away, leaving us all bedraggled looking.

The roof is lovely in EVERY way. It looks perfect atop our house, and I feel better going into the winter knowing we have a fresh roof above us. And for that, I'm thankful. And for their ability to complete it in ONE DAY, I'm thankful. And for our neighbors who endured all the nail guns on their ONE DAY of fall break, I'm ever EVER so sorry.

So that's the good.

The bad is that we heard from the Greentown realtor again and my goodness, things just do not look good for the sale of that house. We are brokenhearted for ourselves and for the buyers. It's a whole long story that you really shouldn't have to care about and I don't want to spill in too much detail because it's not just our story, and they didn't ask to be blogged about.

Bottom line...we could be looking square one straight in the eye here in a few days. We weren't fond of square one when we saw it last time - or the time before that. Wonder if it's gotten any prettier since then?

We went for a run and then Ryan took my hand and led me to the prayer chapel so we could pray together.

I had nothing in me. Nothing.

So while Ryan knelt at the altar and prayed for our strength and for wisdom and for all manner of things that a good, leading husband should pray for, I propped myself against the wooden rail and sobbed.

I looked around that room...that grand room with its deep, dark wood and masterful stained glass windows...that cathedral provided for moments such as this. I looked at the seats where I spent hours over the years. The seats where I scrawled and whispered long, wordy prayer. Specific requests.

Last night? No words. None at all. Nothing came. I just leaned my head against the hard corner of its edge and stared at the beauty around me. I was in my running clothes still, so I looked {and probably smelled} all disheveled. Such a misfit. There I was, all slumped against this grand altar, with my wrinkled workout clothes and windblown hair, snotting on my sleeve {since there were no tissues to be found in the whole place}, and yet, it was home. I felt free to slump against the altar, because this place and I had a history. I'd spent time praying the words. The time had come to just simply be. Disheveled amid beauty.

I scooted to the side and saw Him.

Fresh tears.

The reminder that HE knows what it feels like to slump in prayer with no words. To hurt in ways that no one understands. To pray for sustaining faith.

I forced myself to get up and sit in a pew beside Ryan and I found words, finally. I prayed for him...for both of us.

Do I understand these delays and this testing. Oh my goodness, no. But I am comforted to know HE knows and He speaks tears.