It was a moment born out of gratitude. I had been illustrating for a church, and in return for their kindness, I decided to give something back: a painting of Christ, rendered in oil, for their congregation and church hall. It was late one night, as I began the under-sketching, that something remarkable occurred. Jeff Buckley’s haunting rendition of Hallelujah played softly in the background, and as I focused on the task at hand, I briefly saw tears coming from Christ’s eyes.
Here’s the strange part—I hadn’t drawn any tears.
The vision felt real, though I know now it was likely a hallucination. But that moment launched a profound journey for me—a deep dive into devotion, prayer, Bible study, and what turned out to be some of the best years of my life. That tears, whether real or imagined, unlocked something powerful. It was as if, through the art, I was reaching something deeper, tapping into a well of faith that had been hidden within me.
This vision also led me to a significant chapter in my life, which I attempted to capture through the illustrated documentation of my relationship with Karen Hardy. This relationship was the foundation for a trilogy of books I called The Tears of God, chronicling our shared Christian journey. Karen and I were connected by our faith and our struggles, and for a time, we walked a path of redemption together. But like many stories rooted in faith, ours was fraught with both light and darkness.
Karen, who had once been a successful paralegal, tragically fell back into addiction. Her life spiraled, and she became homeless, despite her achievements. The last book of the trilogy ends in tragedy—Karen, or as she’s portrayed, Allison Jolley, dies of an overdose. In reality, her life didn’t reach that exact conclusion, but the sense of loss was just as real. It was as if the woman I knew had vanished, consumed by the very demons we had both been trying to overcome.
Even now, I think of her fondly. But the pain remains, knowing that addiction took hold once again.
That night, when I saw those tears, I still can’t fully explain what happened. Was it merely the result of an overworked mind? A delusion? Perhaps. But when I hear scientists today claiming that the apostle Paul, the man who helped build the early church, may have been schizophrenic, I can’t help but relate. Here was someone who saw visions, heard voices, and was driven by something beyond mere rationality. Was his faith built on hallucinations? Or was it something more?
In the end, I choose to believe in the latter. Because like Paul, I am a reformed sinner. And whatever that vision was—whether from God or some misfiring neurons—it ignited a journey in me that continues to shape my life. The Tears of God wasn’t just a story; it was my way of wrestling with faith, loss, and the fragile human condition.
Perhaps, in some way, we all experience our own Hallelujah, a cry of joy and sorrow that connects us to something greater than ourselves.
by Dan and Bonkers
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