166 GOOD MORNING, HOLY SPIRIT
it. But I do remember that I was on my knees when I felt
His presence and sensed that He was quietly weeping.
You say, "Well, how did you know it was the Spirit?"
For me to question the reality of that moment would be to
question my salvation; that's how real that experience was.
I can't explain it or comprehend it, but I know it happened.
The experience was so real that I literally turned my
face to the left and said, "Spirit of the Lord, why are you
weeping?"
There was no answer. And at that moment the tears
began flowing down my own cheeks. Through my watering
eyes I asked Him again, "Spirit of the Lord, why are you
weeping?"
Then suddenly my entire being began to cry out. It was
no longer just tears; the reality of what I felt was so great I
began to groan. The feeling came from deep inside. It was
as if I were heartbroken—like a person who has just lost a
son or a daughter.
The deep sobbing would not stop. I was weeping at
night and could not sleep. And it continued, not for hours
but for days. It wasn't planned, and, truthfully, I couldn't
understand why the tears were so uncontrollable. In all, the
experience lasted for more than three weeks.
The burden became heavier and heavier. I felt as if
someone had taken a thousand-pound load, strapped it on
my back, pulled tight its belts, locked it with a key, and left
me alone to struggle. If anything, it felt as if I was
overburdened with an oppressive, heavy load of grief.
That's the only way to describe it—a weight of grief.
Pacing the Floor
I felt like the psalmist when he wrote,