Tears In a Bottle

Years ago, I was a sponsor at a Christian youth event at The Mabee Center here in Tulsa. In one session, the speaker spoke of dark experiences teenagers can go through—particularly in their families. It deeply affected many of our students. There was one in particular—I won’t give his name—but I can still his face as fresh as when he was a young teenage boy. 

He had borrowed one of my daughters’ unisex Old Navy jackets—which matters to the story. 

I had slipped out of the arena to walk around a bit in the hallway. As I was heading back, coming out of the arena, practically running into me, was this boy in my daughter’s blue jacket. 

He was stumbling and weeping, and I knew why. He had suffered more than a young teenager should ever have to suffer. When he saw me, I held out my arms and he fell into them. We collapsed on the floor—him weeping, me soothing. I can still hear his sobs as fresh as the long ago moment when they wracked his body. 

The next day, my daughter asked me to wash the jacket this boy returned to her the night before. I looked at it for a long, long time. I finally took it from her and said, “I can’t wash this. That boy’s tears are in this jacket. I can’t wash his hurt away like it doesn’t matter.”

I still have that jacket tucked away in a box—it’s never been washed. I had to buy my daughter a new jacket that day. I didn’t care. That boy probably doesn’t even remember. But I do. 

In Psalm 56:8, the psalmist expresses it like this in his song to the Lord: You have put my tears in Your bottle. 

I don’t know what that looks like on heaven’s side of things, but I am deeply comforted to know that my God says, “I have to hold on to her tears . . . because they matter to Me.”

Psalm 56:9: This I know: God is for me.