Psalm 56:8

It is my 3rd night sleeping alone in my small apartment. It is already late into the night yet my mind wanders to so many places as I am lying in bed. 

I cannot dismiss the scenes during the day when my resolve to move on from the man I loved who caused me so pain was tested again. 

I saw him again, but with my bestfriend.

Closing my eyes won’t even help. I tried playing songs and blurted my heart out singing. Yet, I still end up in my blank stare onto the white ceiling upfront me. 

I feel nothing but my heart screams with pain, hurt, rejection and loneliness. Crying is my only friend now. 

As I lay here, embracing myself, curled like a fetus in a mother’s womb, I remember this:

​You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book? (Psalms 56:8 NASB)

Tonight is just one of the hundred nights that I have spent for the last 2 years crying. Tossing and turning on my bed, my thoughts pull me closer to the pain of my hurts. It seems pointless for me to cry again over the same thing but what can my scarred soul do? I can only wash these black hues that tainted my heart with the healing solution from the salty tears of my own eyes. 

I cannot find comfort in myself now apart from God’s words that assures me tonight. He knows how many times I have tossed and turned in my bed tonight. He counts them! Not only does He count them but He surely knows the reason behind every deep sigh I exhale. 

God accounts for every drop of tear that falls from my eyes. To assure me that nothing of these is wasted, He adds that He keeps my tears in a bottle.

I wonder, if I meet God in heaven, and He shows me my bottle of tears. Will it be filled to the brim? Will it be half full, half empty?

Even to these questions, I still don’t have an answer. 

What I am assured of is that no matter how many gallons I cry, God will surely collect them. I am important to my Father in heaven. 

With this, I will gladly, though ironic, fill up my bottle of tears, until I meet God face-to-face. 

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