âSome seniors from church are going to the Holy Land, and Iâve decided to join them,â my mother announced one evening. My brothers and sisters and I were relieved. Weâd been worried Mom might never get over losing Dad. Her joy in life had gone out of her since he died. Even though she went to church daily, she seemed lonely and lost, as if her sorrow were too deep for anyone or anything to touch.
For years, my parents had talked about visiting the places theyâd read about in the Bible, so I hoped this trip would help Mom feel connected to her faith again. Please, Lord, I asked, heal my mother.
One day a few weeks before she was set to leave, Mom was making stew when the top of the pressure cooker blew off. The roiling contents burst out of the pot, scalding Momâs chest and face. Fortunately, her burns healed in time for the trip.
âYouâre lucky,â the doctor told her. âThe only permanent damage youâve suffered is to your tear ducts.â Theyâd been destroyed and would never produce tears again, so Mom would have to use special eyedropsâartificial tearsâfor the rest of her life. Still, she was grateful her injuries wouldnât keep her from her long-awaited visit to the Holy Land.
Mom called as soon as she got back from her trip. I almost didnât recognize her voice because she sounded so happy. âBernie,â she said, âyou wonât believe what happened to me at the Garden of Gethsemane. I was wandering among the olive trees and rows of flowers, missing your dad so badly. At the rock where Jesus prayed before he went to the cross, I knelt and closed my eyes. I asked our Lord to forgive me for complaining about my own suffering when he had endured so much more.
âThen I felt this tickling sensation on my face. I opened my eyes, but nothingânot a leaf or flower petalâwas brushing my skin. I reached up and touched my cheeks. They were wet, Bernieâwet with real tears!â
And so were mine.