Hush. It Will be Alright

 For you I wait all the day (Psalm 25:5)

 

I heard her before I jogged around the corner. A long, slow, desolate cry.  Blonde pig-tails, blue jeans, a long sleeve pullover shirt. She couldn’t have been older than four. She sulked in her driveway as Dad unloaded groceries from the van. He called gently for her to come inside.

“I dontwannacomein. I wanna stay here.”  She said something else but her woeful sobs swallowed her words.  As I neared, she turned in my direction and started walking toward Dad. Maybe she felt embarrassed because I heard her crying. Or perhaps she was nervous to be around a strange man. 

I continued running along the sidewalk and soon turned another corner toward home. But my thoughts remained behind with that precious little girl. I let her image play again in my mind. Rosy face, tears rolling down her cheeks. She reminded me of my own children decades ago. And memories returned to me of the days when their tears fell down their cheeks. I used to kneel in front of them, pull them close and hold them tightly, wipe their tears and tell them, “Hush. It will be alright.”

Hush. 

It will be alright.

But now, after all these years, I wonder if it will be alright. It does little good to make believe my doubts don’t exist. God knows what I think before the words even cross my lips.

The days of pulling our children close to ourselves and wiping their tears and telling them it will be alright are gone for Nancy and me. They are no longer four-year-olds. They’re in their thirties. Two of the three live on the other side of the country.

And sometimes I wonder how my Father in heaven feels when He hears my cries.  How He feels when He sees my tears. I wonder if He wants to kneel in front of me, pull me close to Himself, hold me tight, wipe my tears and say, “Hush. It will be alright.”

I wonder those things because so many times, especially since some of my dreams and my deepest hopes have withered and died before my eyes, and I let loose mournful tears on my wife’s shoulder . . . . I wonder how He feels toward me when I don’t feel His presence with me. And all I have left is my belief in the God described by the Bible as One who does hear my prayers, who does hear my sobs, and who does hold me to Himself – even though I cannot sense it.

But oh, how I wish, sometimes so desperately wish, I did not have to walk so often by faith. Oh, how I wish I could once – just once -- catch a glimpse of His face. And hear Him say, “Hush. It will be alright.”