How many more miles…left in this Valley of Baca? No horizon in sight, blurry eyes. Manufactured tears? I think not. They flow like no tomorrow.
Oh turn back oh time, turn back! Linger a little longer and taste the memory of care!!
The salt cleanses and purifies; yet sorrow knocks gently echoing the pounding of my heart.
Comfort approaches awakens awareness of His presence, not wiping away, but rather catching and containing each of the preciousness drops as liquid gold plops into that crystal vase of mine only mine, handmade by the lifter of my head and the healer of my heart, my creator who knew of today, and prepared to meet me here, there, wherever where.
Tears welcome here.
It’s okay to cry here.
Tiptoe tears. Tiptoe.
Look …there are pools!