Theology of Tears
My parents were kind enough to drop me off and pick me up every day at school.
Our school buses were crowded, three kids to a seat, and the routes were long. At 3:00 p.m. the final bell would dismiss hundreds of children all at once—some herded to the car rider pickup and some piled into yellow buses. My mom and dad both went to work before the sun rose, their dismissal bell ringing around the same time as mine. My father would always make it into the giant semi-circle of cars in front of my school a little late—but not late enough to be out of sight. Each day, I would stretch as tall as I could to catch a glimpse of my dad’s car at the end of the line. Most days I spotted the bright red SUV quickly. Other days he was later. Those were the days that I cried…
