Sitting alongside family,

tears became all she could see. . .

suddenly.

She could barely keep breathing,

keep her family from seeing.

The tears fell down her cheeks, unrelenting.

She spoke in gasps, quieter than a whisper.

The reason was unknown to those beside her-

even her.

Clenching a Bible, tightly with her shaking hands,

rushing in prayer to not leave anyone unmentioned,

to Your throne, she ran.

The tears kept falling, the fears kept holding.

and still, she was unknowing.

What could cause such an undeniable torrent of tears?

What could leave this traveled girl clinging to You,

barely staying above the current of her fears?

What could leave her heart so stricken, at a loss at what to do?

Powerless, broken, fainthearted, a heap of tears,

somehow with all her might, still clinging to YOU.

thankfully, a dear friend kept praying for the wounded girl, when no more words were exchanged,

thankfully, she knew grace her with company and lyrics from afar.

thankfully, she was met with family, taken in their open arms.

thankfully, they held her tightly, praying and keeping her heart from more harm.

thankfully, that in the midst of one of her darkest days,

her family, her remedy, knew just what to do, and just what to say. . .

..........................................................................................................................

"And your eyes must do some raining if you're ever gonna grow,
but when crying don't help,
you can't compose yourself,
it's best to compose a poem.
An honest verse of longing, or a simple song of hope.
That's why I'm singing, 'Baby, don't worry- cause now I've got your back.'
And every time you feel like crying, I'll try and make you laugh.
And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad, then we'll wait for it to pass.
And I will keep you company for those days so long and black.
And we'll keep working on the problem
that we know we'll never solve-
of Love's uneven remainders,
our lives are fractions of a whole.
But if the world could remain within a frame
like a painting on a a wall,
I think we'd see the beauty there,
we'd stand staring awe
at our still lives posed
like a bowl of oranges.
Like a story told, by the fault lines and the soil."

~Bowl of Oranges, by Bright Eyes