Catching Tears

Her tears were forming and slowly dripping from her cheek to her chin before she would dap them with a tissue.  A few of those tears were caught by the denim she was wearing, but you’d never know those jeans had tear stains if you were to pass her in the hallway.  I can tell this momma had been through it.  The ‘it’ part hadn’t been unraveled yet, but I can sense ‘it’ and see it on her face and her daughter’s face.  

It had been about a year since her daughter had stepped foot into school.  I don’t know why she hasn’t stepped foot into school, but I know there is pain involved with ‘it’ just by the tears falling from her mom, now getting more visible in her daughter’s face.  

How amazing it is to me that out of all of the days her daughter said no to coming to school, today was a yes.  Mom has the courage.  The daughter is scared, but is taking a step.  I see the Cross on her necklace.  I know the door is open for Him in whatever ‘it’ is.  This day just so happens to be the day I’m here for summer school.  It so happens to be the day I’m working with other believers.  I’m working with folks who don’t believe, but I’m learning God can use anyone He wants to no matter what ‘it’ is we are facing.  

This was a divine orchestration.  

I begin asking questions about how I can support and mom and I begin talking about next steps for school.  While her daughter is interrupting and obviously agitated, she begins yelling:

“TELL HER MOM!  TELL HER MOM!  TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED AND HOW IT WAS ALL MY FAULT!”  

The tears falling down weren’t slowly dripping anymore, but they were more of steady streams, a river with heavy undercurrents.

I hand the tissue box over.

And I sit.


Mom is crying.  Her daughter is crying.

After the screaming comes the silence.

Silence doesn’t bother me.  I’m thankful for it.  

I’m praying.

“Lord, what do you want me to say and what do you want me to do?  This is beyond me, but it’s not beyond you.  Do what only you can do.  Work here and now in the lives of everyone in this room.  I don’t know what’s going on, but you do.  You are the God of possible, so use me how you will.  I say yes.  Change hearts.  Break chains.”

Within a couple of minutes, I choose to break the silence with words, because encouragement, affirmation and step one can come from them.

“I don’t know what happened, but I know that something did happen and I want to say that whatever that thing was that happened was wrong and shouldn’t have happened and I just want to say I am so sorry about what happened to you.  It sounds unfair, unjust, and wrong.  It sounds like it has caused so much pain for you both.  It’s not my business to know.  If you want to share ‘it’, I’m here to listen, however there is no pressure in sharing anything with me that you do not want to share.  If today is step 1, walking towards healing, and if step 1 is getting back to school, let’s figure out what this can look like.  Let’s figure out what step 1 looks like and what’s possible together.  I do know whatever ‘it’ is, it can be overcome, but I’m going to need you and you, and you’re going to need me.  We’re going to need your teachers.  Step 1 is not something to do on your own.”

I look at her daughter.  

She’s not looking at me. 

Inside, she’s screaming for help and healing.  She knows her mom is her number one fan, but she’s struggling with ‘it’.

“Today is the day we choose to take step 1 together.  Are you in?  If you are, I’ve got you.”

Silence.

She has said no for a year.

Lord, do only what you can do.  

Still not looking, she responds. “Sure.”

I’m screaming inside: Thank you Lord.  Thank you Lord.

And just at that divine moment, a teacher walked into my office, not knowing the entirety of the conversation.  I share a picture of her daughter’s academic story.  The teacher asked if she could introduce her to her soon to be teacher.  The teacher walks in and  introduces herself to her daughter.  The teacher makes an offer to move students to various classrooms with other teachers to work, and asked if the student would be willing to work with her 1-on-1 until all of her work was complete.

Again without looking, she responds: “sure.”

I’m telling her how proud I am of her taking step 1.  I shower her with encouragement and remind her that step 1 is going to be difficult, so we talk about strategies for the more difficult moments.  

The mom is silent as the teacher walks out of the room with her daughter.

Silence. Again. This silence is hitting differently. A momma’s tears behind the door of a child is just different.

Tears begin rolling like a thunderstorm.  She’s letting it all out.

She is sharing about the rape.  She is sharing about the fallout.  She is sharing how her daughter is a different girl than the girl she always knew.

I imagine sitting in her shoes. Is there a greater sorrow?

Her mom knows her and loves her. This is her baby. Heartbroken and devastated. She wants freedom again as a mom, as a woman and wants her daughter’s freedom to be restored. It’s been robbed.

She keeps talking but the words can’t seem to stop even if she tried.

Lord, cover her.  Fill her.  Bring healing now in Jesus name.  Break chains now for her family.

The other teacher and I listen.  We know He’s working.

She saw her daughter take step 1 today.  

She needed today.  She is hanging onto hope like a thread as she has watched her daughter morph into something she’d never imagined over the course of a year.  She needed hope to be real and visible.  

As the tears began to be soaked up with tissues and dry up, she softly spoke the words, “Today was a divine appointment.”

I smile.  

Today your daughter took step one.  She stepped foot into a school that she hasn’t seen in a year.  Her biggest fear was seeing too many people.  She now has a class all to herself with a teacher, 1-on-1.  She was worried about being overwhelmed.  We’ve organized her day so she can focus on one thing at a time.  When does this happen in a public school setting?  This is God at work, in real time, quite visibly.

She shared many of the divine appointments in her life she has experienced.  I relish these stories.  

I asked her if I could pray.

She said yes.

We sit and we pray.

This is the Family I think He envisions.

She walked in with tears falling from ‘it’ and walked out with tears of freedom and weight lifted off.  She and her daughter still have a journey ahead of them, and of course I shared the best resources and contacts to support along the way, for step 2 and 3 and beyond.

She walked away knowing God hasn’t forgotten her or her daughter.

She walked away with an answered prayer: taking step 1.

She walked away remembering He is bigger than ‘it’.

She walked away with chains broken.

She walked away with joy in the midst of a broken heart.

She walked away knowing there’s still a journey ahead, but He’s with His daughters.

And, I walk away so thankful that we serve a God who catches every single one of our tears.