We walked out of the hotel heading for the train that would take us to the airport, the first leg of Denny’s trip back home. How I wished I was going with her. First and foremost, because I knew how very much I was going to miss her, but also because I knew that it was much, much cooler there. Georgia’s triple digit heat and humidity just didn’t mix well with the hot flashes this decade of life had brought me. It was completely amazing to me that the sun’s slumber had provided very little relief and that, even at 6:30 a.m., the air felt almost unbearably heavy.
We boarded the train, reminiscing of how she had left her computer on this same train when she first arrived 13 days earlier and how God had answered our prayers by prompting a sweet man to pick it up and keep it until he could find its rightful owner. Having spent well over an hour frantically searching for the computer which contained all her passwords and sensitive personal information, she had been relieved to get a late evening call from her husband that this Good Samaritan had called to let him know the computer was safe and sound.
Though relieved, neither of us was terribly surprised, however. God continually seemed to bless our time together. It was always obvious that He liked it when we spent time as a pair and that He had a purpose for us both—not alone, but together. We always said that God introduced us and, on this day, three years later, it was more obvious than ever that our friendship was hand-designed by the Maker Himself. This angel, disguised as a proud papa who had traveled across the country to see his daughter play softball and who had found and returned her computer, was just one more reminder that God was always with us and always listening.
I looked over at Denny, clutching her computer case in one hand and holding the bar with the other as the train zoomed along. Though she was still smiling, my personal amusement quickly melted away and I groaned as she remarked how wonderful the early morning heat felt. Easy for her to say, I thought. She was headed back to Canada and I was being left behind to look forward to yet another day of humid, sweltering sauna-like heat. I looked across the aisle at her again and growled and, as the day’s first bead of sweat made its debut, I began to ponder.
Why, I wondered to myself, does the air feel so darn heavy here? Logically, I knew it was the humidity, because humidity is water and water does indeed make everything heavier. Anyone who has ever gone swimming in their clothes knows this. I couldn’t help but smile again as I thought back to the first night of our visit when Denny had jumped into the pool fully clothed and how when she got out, she looked as if she was walking in a full suit of armor.
Wait, that’s it, I thought, that’s why our hearts feel so heavy when we are sad or hurt. Saturated in our uncried tears, the heart, like humid air or water-soaked clothes, gets incredibly heavy. But, God, stands ready to collect each and every one of our tears and to lighten our load. We were never meant to bear life and pain alone.
I smiled again, another teaching moment from God. And, with this revelation, I filed a mental note to immerse myself in His Word as soon as I got home.