It was a small community nestled among the lakes and trees of the North. I was there to help with a three-day girl’s camp. We were sleeping in bush tents and eating food cooked over a fire: bush camping at its best! The past two nights and three days had been exhausting, fun and rewarding. I loved the girls, and we had become close friends. But endless hours of swimming, playing games, making crafts and singing had taken their toll on all of us, and we were tired.
So you can imagine that a thunderstorm was not eagerly anticipated as we got ready for bed that night. The wind had started to pick up, and the sky was getting darker than usual at that time of the evening. The girls were starting to get scared because they had heard there was a storm coming, and they just wanted to go home.
I was in my tent, trying to get my six girls to settle down and settle an argument about who should sleep where. None of them wanted to sleep at the end of the row, for fear of getting wet when the rain came.
One of them started crying.
“She’s crying because of her brother”, one of them stated sadly. “He got run over by a car two years ago.”
My heart broke for my dear little girl…I hadn’t known this, and I wondered why this came up now…when we were just trying to get the girls settled down ??
She had had a nose-bleed earlier in the day, and now, because of her crying, it was bleeding again. I was trying to hold her and comfort her, while trying to stop the bleeding at the same time. Her sobbing was making the bleeding worse and worse, and it just wasn’t letting up.
“Yeah, it was an accident, but it killed him. He was really young”, I heard the other girls in the background.
“They’re talking about my brother”, she said through her tears; which, of course, continued the bleeding.
“I want to go home to my grandma”, she sobbed. “I miss my brother. Why did he have to die?”
I have no answers, and can hardly concentrate anyway, because of the constant flow of blood and the growing pile of reddened tissues on the ground. I try to keep it from dripping onto her clothes, and I notice that it’s all over my sleeve.
God, why is all of this happening right now? You’d think we could spend the last night in peace, since all of us are worn out already. I don’t want my sweatshirt to be stained with blood. I wonder if Florence Nightingale ever felt like this. I always picture her sweetly nursing those soldiers back to health, and never minding it a bit. Same with Mother Teresa. Am I just a bad missionary? I am human, after all. They were too. Did they ever feel like this?
Then the other leader comes in. “Our tent is made of cloth, so we’re getting soaked. We’ll have to split up between the other two tents.”
“Here, can you take care of her for a minute?” I say to my assistant, “Just try to stop the bleeding and keep it from getting all over.”
So we start making room for four more girls in our tent; moving sleeping bags, mattresses and backpacks, while trying not to get too close to the water that has puddled on the sides of the tent.
All the while, the girl is still crying and nose keeps bleeding, although I think by now it’s slowly starting to lessen. But now another one is crying. Her mom had died the previous fall; her dad passed away that winter. Her heart is breaking, and the girls are trying to comfort her.
I go back to the bleeding one. She’s somewhat calmed down now, and the bleeding is subsiding. She calms down enough to lie down, and eventually goes to sleep.
I see that the rest of the girls are somewhat settled, so I finally go to my sleeping bag and slip in. I hear soft sobs coming from the one laying across from me.
“What’s wrong, Hailey?” I ask her.
“My grandma died and I miss her,” she said softly.
Yes God, that’s all I need: another crying girl.
So we talk for a little while. We try to sing, and I think I even pray for her. We can hear the whispering from the girl who lost both parents and the comforting words from the other girls. Their care for each other touches my heart.
They’re getting more tired, but they’re still not sleeping, which is all I want to do right now.
God, can You please just make the rain go away? I just want to sleep. Why did You send the rain tonight anyway? Couldn’t the nice weather have lasted at least until tomorrow?
I try to go to sleep, but I’m ranting at God in my mind, and trying to keep the tent wall from blowing in when I hear:
“I think I know why it’s raining.”
I roll over in my sleeping bag and look at the girl whose grandma died.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, wanting to hear a good explanation.
“Remember that song that we’ve been singing, where it says, ‘He laughs with us, He cries with us…’? I think it’s raining because God is crying too…He’s crying with us.”
“Hailey, I think you’re exactly right”, I whisper.
I lay back down, my heart full and my eyes filling with tears. Her insightful observation was exactly right, and captured the heart of God beautifully. He had given us gorgeous weather up until then; we had played in the sun, laughed and so much fun together. But that night, when our hearts were hurting and tears were falling…God cried with us.
He could’ve held the rain off…we could’ve finished camp with not a cloud in the sky.
But that’s not real life.
Yes, it’s great to have sunny days. We love being able to bask in the sunshine and not have to worry at all. But the rain always comes, and it’s hard. We cry, we miss the ones we have lost, and we wonder why it’s happening. But that’s when we huddle together and share our hearts; that’s when we welcome others in who need a safe place, because we know it could have been us in that other tent. That’s when we cry and find comfort through our tears, and through the tears of others. And yes, sometimes we hurt so much that it feels like we are bleeding and it doesn’t stop.
But, my friends, we have a Savior who has come to heal the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind; to set at liberty all who are oppressed. He’s here. He’s crying too.
So may we welcome the rain…May we allow ourselves to weep and to mourn and to feel the pain. And when the sun does break through the clouds…may we celebrate in joyful worship of our Healer and Lover, Jesus Christ.
So you can imagine that a thunderstorm was not eagerly anticipated as we got ready for bed that night. The wind had started to pick up, and the sky was getting darker than usual at that time of the evening. The girls were starting to get scared because they had heard there was a storm coming, and they just wanted to go home.
I was in my tent, trying to get my six girls to settle down and settle an argument about who should sleep where. None of them wanted to sleep at the end of the row, for fear of getting wet when the rain came.
One of them started crying.
“She’s crying because of her brother”, one of them stated sadly. “He got run over by a car two years ago.”
My heart broke for my dear little girl…I hadn’t known this, and I wondered why this came up now…when we were just trying to get the girls settled down ??
She had had a nose-bleed earlier in the day, and now, because of her crying, it was bleeding again. I was trying to hold her and comfort her, while trying to stop the bleeding at the same time. Her sobbing was making the bleeding worse and worse, and it just wasn’t letting up.
“Yeah, it was an accident, but it killed him. He was really young”, I heard the other girls in the background.
“They’re talking about my brother”, she said through her tears; which, of course, continued the bleeding.
“I want to go home to my grandma”, she sobbed. “I miss my brother. Why did he have to die?”
I have no answers, and can hardly concentrate anyway, because of the constant flow of blood and the growing pile of reddened tissues on the ground. I try to keep it from dripping onto her clothes, and I notice that it’s all over my sleeve.
God, why is all of this happening right now? You’d think we could spend the last night in peace, since all of us are worn out already. I don’t want my sweatshirt to be stained with blood. I wonder if Florence Nightingale ever felt like this. I always picture her sweetly nursing those soldiers back to health, and never minding it a bit. Same with Mother Teresa. Am I just a bad missionary? I am human, after all. They were too. Did they ever feel like this?
Then the other leader comes in. “Our tent is made of cloth, so we’re getting soaked. We’ll have to split up between the other two tents.”
“Here, can you take care of her for a minute?” I say to my assistant, “Just try to stop the bleeding and keep it from getting all over.”
So we start making room for four more girls in our tent; moving sleeping bags, mattresses and backpacks, while trying not to get too close to the water that has puddled on the sides of the tent.
All the while, the girl is still crying and nose keeps bleeding, although I think by now it’s slowly starting to lessen. But now another one is crying. Her mom had died the previous fall; her dad passed away that winter. Her heart is breaking, and the girls are trying to comfort her.
I go back to the bleeding one. She’s somewhat calmed down now, and the bleeding is subsiding. She calms down enough to lie down, and eventually goes to sleep.
I see that the rest of the girls are somewhat settled, so I finally go to my sleeping bag and slip in. I hear soft sobs coming from the one laying across from me.
“What’s wrong, Hailey?” I ask her.
“My grandma died and I miss her,” she said softly.
Yes God, that’s all I need: another crying girl.
So we talk for a little while. We try to sing, and I think I even pray for her. We can hear the whispering from the girl who lost both parents and the comforting words from the other girls. Their care for each other touches my heart.
They’re getting more tired, but they’re still not sleeping, which is all I want to do right now.
God, can You please just make the rain go away? I just want to sleep. Why did You send the rain tonight anyway? Couldn’t the nice weather have lasted at least until tomorrow?
I try to go to sleep, but I’m ranting at God in my mind, and trying to keep the tent wall from blowing in when I hear:
“I think I know why it’s raining.”
I roll over in my sleeping bag and look at the girl whose grandma died.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, wanting to hear a good explanation.
“Remember that song that we’ve been singing, where it says, ‘He laughs with us, He cries with us…’? I think it’s raining because God is crying too…He’s crying with us.”
“Hailey, I think you’re exactly right”, I whisper.
I lay back down, my heart full and my eyes filling with tears. Her insightful observation was exactly right, and captured the heart of God beautifully. He had given us gorgeous weather up until then; we had played in the sun, laughed and so much fun together. But that night, when our hearts were hurting and tears were falling…God cried with us.
He could’ve held the rain off…we could’ve finished camp with not a cloud in the sky.
But that’s not real life.
Yes, it’s great to have sunny days. We love being able to bask in the sunshine and not have to worry at all. But the rain always comes, and it’s hard. We cry, we miss the ones we have lost, and we wonder why it’s happening. But that’s when we huddle together and share our hearts; that’s when we welcome others in who need a safe place, because we know it could have been us in that other tent. That’s when we cry and find comfort through our tears, and through the tears of others. And yes, sometimes we hurt so much that it feels like we are bleeding and it doesn’t stop.
But, my friends, we have a Savior who has come to heal the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind; to set at liberty all who are oppressed. He’s here. He’s crying too.
So may we welcome the rain…May we allow ourselves to weep and to mourn and to feel the pain. And when the sun does break through the clouds…may we celebrate in joyful worship of our Healer and Lover, Jesus Christ.
