I do cry a lot but, "If you only knew," and that's what I say as I lay my face in kleenex. Telling the story.
I twist the brightly beaded rings on my fingers and focus my mind on the women in Tanzania, Africa who made them. As I turn them over and over again on my white (!) hands, I imagine strong black ones, and I am comforted. I wonder what the hands are doing now, that strung these beads? What are the struggles of a woman in Africa? I wonder what the life of a Massai woman is like, and if she would say to me, "If you only knew."
The story tumbles out, and I am spent. I study my rings with intimate fascination and think about Jesus. I think about His hands too, PIERCED, and the disciples all scared, all hiding, all asking, "Why?" And Jesus likely saying...
"If you only knew."