Perhaps, a Miracle

On the way to fly

There are tears that do not fall.

They rise.

They refuse the pull of the earth

and travel upward, into the sky.

Sorrow, before I knew it,

had turned into prayer.

In the car, on the way to see you off,

I watched the rain strike the window.

The wind pushed the drops hard,

and they seemed to climb, not fall.

I saw it with my own eyes—

water rising against gravity.

Not a single tear is wasted.

Even grief will find its way upward.

I marvelled in silence.

Nothing truly falls and disappears.

My prayer was deep and steady.

No more crying like a child.

No more pleading aloud.

Only a quiet force

sent from my heart

straight into the heavens.

It was not for my comfort.

Not to gain or achieve.

It was simply to face what comes—

painful, yes—

but standing before me.

The heavy air, the cold wind,

I let them be.

The raindrops that slid down the glass

suddenly seemed to soar

in a single shining line.

Endlessly rising.

Even when they strike the window,

they are lifted in the end.

Nothing has changed—

and yet, everything looks different.

Perhaps that is what we call

a miracle.

Even if tears were to flood the world,

they would not soak the ground

but the sky.

They are lifted, not lost,

because there is One

who sees them.

*these are my own paintings *