There is that phrase of the Psalmist’s song:
May those who sow in tears….
All these tears, all this rain. And yet… there is sowing, there is planting.
True, we may cry, but we press on for the crop.
We may sorrow but we still sow. And though we are broken, we still bend and begin; we do our work though we weep.
We tell our hurts we must still do the task at hand if we hope to harvest; though we may not feel like it, the fields need seeds.
So we hang out the clothes as we try to hang on, and we stir the pot as all the pain spills, and we still sow though in tears, and let go of every seed, burying hopes and hurts in faith, and out of loss, new life will unfurl, our tears watering rows.