God’s Tears (Part One)

Long after the sticky drab of an all day late August rain, the trees still spit on me. The fog rolls in, like a thick blanket, smothering the hustle and din I’ve grown accustom to. Only the expectancy of a passing cop car can cut the smothering.

There is more than just the eerie quiet that shakes me to my core. Can you feel the dank air, eating you from within, like lead piranha in your lungs? Change is morphing closer, ever closer. Surrounded, I’m powerless to stop, or even slow, this.

How can I embrace this transformation with so many attachments in the way?

Life keeps sending the message. “There is no sin, but the suffering you create by pulling away.”

Why do these attachments hook so deep, as to cause me pain when fleeing God?

Especially when She cries through Her trees?