By Lynna Clark

We used to have the best doctor. When David’s A1C registered high, she gave him a plan to lower it. Of course the plan came with a stern warning about his consumption of grits and other Southern manna. But her advice worked. Even better, she treated him like a son and praised his efforts each time he had bloodwork. She was so encouraging that his blood pressure, which usually shot through the roof like a rocket during a visit, came down to somewhat normal. But then she committed the unpardonable.

Our beloved Mrs. Caroline Adams retired. Dang encouraging grandma. Oh how we miss her. Life will never be the same.
As you surely know by now, I am a delicate flower. Currently I’m going through another health issue on top of the mystery illness I deal with. Of course the older I get the more the crazy symptoms pile on. In fact I told the Lord this morning that I am tired of asking for help and getting none. I decided to just quit asking. Then the story in the Daily Bread devotional spoke of the eerie quiet in a Russian orphanage where the babies learn not to cry because they know that no help will come. What a terribly sad commentary. Just as I finished reading the article the Lord reminded me of this verse.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle.” -Psalm 56:8

Apparently Somebody does care.

Then I wondered how large that bottle must be. Since I’m a big ol’ crybaby, the Lord probably uses a five gallon bucket… or three. So let’s do this.

The next time we get to wondering if anybody cares at all, let’s practice this. Let’s go ahead and cry out to the Lord and know He loves us enough to collect all our tears. His Son also cried out. He even wondered why God had forsaken Him.
I bet His bucket is even bigger than mine.