Five Minute Friday: Real=tears?
Leaving the women’s prayer meeting I felt frustrated. Prayers for sick relatives, for which house to buy, for children to be potty trained. I wanted to pray about those things. But I knew that each of those women had deeper hurts, deeper prayer requests. Fear, protection, insecurity, whatever held them back, they wouldn’t share. Maybe makeup covers more than blemishes.
The next week, I knew from the way that meeting haunted me that I needed to speak. And I knew I would cry. I always cry. For my personality, real rarely comes without tears. And I knew my make up would run. When I walked in, I scanned the room for the nearest tissue box. And I shared, from my heart, some of the hard stuff. The things I could not leave at God’s feet, thoughts that fought all week to take captive. And I cried.
And then, some one else shared, with tears, about her parent’s divorce. And then someone else about her food issues. And suddenly we loved each other more deeply when prayed, even if the real prayers were for sick relatives.
If we are not real, why expect others to be?