No More Popped Balloons
My two-year-old daughter excitedly uncovered remnants of a blue balloon in our yard. She loves balloons. She also obsesses over the delightful toy-fixing doctor, Doc McStuffins, so in her mind, no toy is unfixable. Anything can be made right with a cuddle or a bandage.
Elephant tears rolled down her cheeks in frustration that my husband and I could not inflate her buried treasure. Days went by, and each time she played outside she returned to the trash can where it had been thrown out, tearfully requesting we retrieve the balloon to fix it. “Some things just can’t be fixed, sweetheart,” my husband gently reminded her.
Then it hit me. This is why we cry. We cry because of the broken things that can’t be mended. We grieve when life fractures beyond repair.
I realized her tears over a popped balloon were similar to my grief-filled sobs over the loss of her big sister. I cry because what’s broken can’t be fixed – nothing can change the fact we buried our daughter nearly a year ago.
We humbly apologized for being annoyed, and scooped her up to let her cry. As my husband and I soothed her, we said, “It’s okay to cry when things can’t be made right – that’s a good reason to cry. This isn’t a tantrum. You’re not in trouble. It’s okay to be sad.”
When God created the universe, everything He made was good. When Adam and Eve sinned, everything broke. Deep in our souls, we know everything should be right, so our hearts break when we see brokenness. Even creation groans with longing for the glory ahead. In Romans 8:18, 22-24, we read,
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.
For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?
We grieve with breathtaking sobs, but we grieve with hope. One day, all the sorrows of this world will pale in comparison to the future glory awaiting us. As I long for heaven, my prayers now take a new form: lament.
God, I know you hear me when I call you!
I groan in pain as I relive Emmi’s last days, aching in her absence.
Your compassion wraps around like an embrace as You weep, too.
Pain whispers you are far away, but truth assures your presence.
Even though I can’t understand, I trust You because You are always near.
While the waiting seems unbearable, the promise is certain. One day soon, every tear will be wiped away, and there will be no more popped balloons.
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