I COULDN'T DO this anymore. My breaks in between classes needed to be used for grading; for studying my scores and planning for upcoming concerts; for lesson planning or studying scripts or simply attending to the myriad of other duties I found myself on a deadline for. I tried my best to suppress the foreboding tears that waited close to the surface to be summoned and spilled at a moment's notice, but to no avail.
I rushed into the inner chamber of my choir room - a place that had become a refuge for me when these waves of emotion threatened to expose themselves in front of my students or the staff. I quietly and very intentionally shut the doors, as always, so no one would hear my sobs. And, although those doors served their intended purpose of temporarily hiding my pain from others, I am so grateful they failed to separate me from Jesus, the one that was there that day, collecting every tear.
Through my desperation of soul, I had lost sight of the fact that there was someone who could still hear me. Someone who saw every hopeless tear I shed, felt every emotion I could no longer restrain, and heard every unspoken plea of my heart. But none of that was in my consciousness that day. I felt very alone, and God felt very far away.
