You shall weep no more.
I have wept in my life. I have cried heavy sobs that have shaken my whole body. The true, snot-dripping, seal-bark-sounding, slobbery, puffy-eyed ugly cry—I've done that . . . more than once. Loss, fear, rejection, humiliation, and the overwhelming thought that I am dangling all alone at the end of my rope have all brought on this weeping.
That kind of crying, while it can be incredibly cathartic, can also be exhausting, and perhaps that's why these readings resonate in my heart so deeply. At this point in my busy life my favorite way to pray is to picture a child-like version of myself climbing up onto my great big God's giant lap and nestling my head against His chest. At any moment in my day I can pause and climb on up and nestle on in. You may even see me tilt and sway my head a little bit to the side as I imagine getting myself comfy.
While I'm there I usually don't say a single thing—I just let Him love me. I let Him heal my broken heart and bind my wounds. I don't tell Him all the ways I feel like I'm failing or list off all the concerns that are troubling my heart. I may whisper "I'm sorry" and sometimes an "I love You" but usually, though I never picture His face, I have the strongest sense that He sees my heart and He knows. "His understanding is beyond measure," after all.
During Advent we are awaiting and preparing for the Coming of Christ. Today, on the feast of St. Nicholas, we are reminded that Christ comes to save us, just like Saint Nick saved those women from their own desperation with three bags of gold. Like Christ, the Bishop of Myra acted because of his great love and concern for those young women. "He saw the crowds [and] He had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Christ came and He will come again. (Come, Lord Jesus!) But today, today, let us go to Him. Let us climb on His lap, nestle our cheeks against His Heart, and let Him wrap His righteous right hand around us. We shall let Him love us and we shall weep no more.
Bonnie Engstrom is a writer, baker, speaker and homemaker. She lives with her husband and five children in central Illinois. You can find out more about her here.