Valley of Tears

by Donna Poole

Her life was a song, and then—she was gone.

Amber was a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, a writer, a poet, a lover of creation, and a lover of God. She knew her worth; she was God’s child, a Daughter of the Star Breather. Amber even wrote a book with that title.

“By the word of the LORD were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth.” –Psalm 33:6

Amber liked driving back country roads with the windows down, music loud, and wind blowing through her hair. She also delighted in the quiet, listening for the first spring peepers, and watching stars and fireflies. She loved the changes in the seasons.

I first met Amber at church when she was two years old, blonde hair hanging to her waist, and a wide, sweet smile. When it was prayer time the rest of us stayed in our pews, but not Amber. She slipped out into the aisle, knelt, and put her forehead on the floor. I grinned to see her little backside high in the air, but tears stung my eyes at the sweet reverence in one so young. From the first, she refused to leave church without hugging me. That hugging tradition continued until cancer and my oncologist’s orders kept me from church. For almost twenty years Amber blessed me with her hugs.

Long ago, I had a kids’ club that met on Wednesday nights during adult prayer time. The kids got older and before I knew it, they were teens. School and sports’ obligations claimed them one by one until only Amber was left on Wednesday nights. For years the two of us met. We talked, laughed, cried, and prayed. Often, we leaned on the railing and watched the sun set over the fields west of the church. As she got older there were times when she would say something that made me wonder who the teacher was and who the learner. Near the end of Amber’s life, we were just two friends sharing what God was teaching us.

On the last night of her life, Amber went home, hugged her mom, and had cinnamon tea and cookies with her sister. Then the two of them laid out on the trampoline laughing, talking, and watching the stars. It was late when Amber went back to another sister’s house where she was living. She curled up in bed, and sometime in the early morning hours the Star Breather called her name. Amber went Home. Now she’s looking at the stars from the other side. Amber always wanted to know God better; now she does. But she was only twenty-two.

The rest of us still journeying Home are walking through Baca, a weary weeping place, the valley of tears. We’re happy for Amber but staggering with grief.

A pastor friend said, “Death is a defeated enemy, but make no mistake; it is still the enemy.”

And a cruel enemy it is.

Our tears aren’t without hope. Long ago Amber knew she could never be good enough to get to heaven. That’s an exercise in futility, right? It’s like trying to jump across the Atlantic; you might jump farther than I, but neither of us is going to make it. Even as a child Amber rejoiced in the relief that she didn’t have to be good enough to earn heaven because Jesus had lived the perfect life she couldn’t and had died to take the punishment for her sin. She trusted Him as her Savior, and the minute she did, He entered her life and forgave her.

Amber and I sometimes talked about how it would have felt to have been Jesus, never to have known the awful feeling of guilt, and then to suddenly take into His heart every sin ever committed in the history of mankind and to feel the horrible guilt of it. It must have been every bit as excruciating as the physical pain of crucifixion, but He triumphed over sin, death, and hell. He made that sin cease to exist for everyone who trusts Him as Savior. That’s Amber’s family, that’s her friends, and that’s me. We’ll see her again. We’ll spend eternity with her. I’ll get more hugs. We’ll watch together things even more beautiful than the sun setting west of our country church.

Meanwhile, what do we do with all these tears? The Psalmist said, “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.” –Psalm 84:5-7 ESV

Because of our tears we will someday provide refreshing pools for others. Meanwhile we go from strength to strength and lean on each other and on our God.

I picture our dear Lord Jesus holding a loaf of bread in His hands, blessing it, breaking it, and giving it to others. That’s an allegory for life; we’re blessed, broken, and given in a continuing cycle. I’m wondering where you are in the cycle. God bless you, wherever you are; don’t lose hope!

Right now, all who love Amber are broken, standing in the valley of tears.

A friend from Ireland sang me a song today I’d never heard before. It had these words, “spreading a beautiful rainbow over the valley of tears.” God is doing that for us.

George Matheson said, “Show me that my tears have made my rainbow.”

Our son, Dan, was thinking of Amber on his way to work this morning when he saw a rainbow in the western sky. He took a picture and sent it to me.

Dan’s wife, Mindy, posted a lovely photo of fall leaves on Facebook with these words, “This morning on the way to school Ruby said, ‘Momma, it’s so peach outside. It’s so pretty.’ It was beautiful. The birds were singing, the rain was falling, and everything was some shade of Amber. I told her it was an Amber morning.”

Yes, today was an Amber morning, and someday we’ll have Amber mornings forever.