Something you should know about me. I cry. Like a lot. My family knows this about me and so do my friends. Thankfully, I have a few friends that are fellow criers so I am not alone when the tears start to trickle, or pour. Only a few have seen the really ugly cry and for that I am thankful. My eyes glow a fluorescent green and something happens to my sinuses. They swell or something. My face gets puffy and I’m kind of a mess. I can cry over virtually anything. The McDonald’s commercials during the Olympics for example. Tear jerkers. Perhaps a really great movie. Okay, pretty much any chick flick gets me, every time. And then there are the moments when I am driving in the car only to glance back and see my kiddos happily singing along; instant tears.
Just this weekend our family took a trip to the coast. We had planned on staying in a hotel but when we arrived we were told that our room had water damage and we would be upgraded to a 4-bedroom house off site. Hotel vs. House. Um, yes please! My husband parked the car and went to check out our accommodations while I unbuckled the kids and collected the trash from our 3 hour road trip. I’m not lying when I say it looked like we’d been living out of our car for a week. So. Much. Trash. As the kids and I made our way up the walkway I heard my husband say to the kids, “I think your mother might cry.” And I did. I reached the top and I cried. And I lost my breath. And I was so thankful.
It was a great family get away. I digress.
I cry when I’m mad. I cry when I hurt for others. I cry when I laugh really hard. But each tear means something. I believe. It is a way of communicating. Some use words, I use tears. Not really, but kind of. My kids have learned this language in their very few short years. They know the difference between my tears of joy and my tears of sadness. They know my angry tears. They even know my God-tears which are cried in joy and sadness and sometimes both of those, together. Last week I was reading about Joseph. With all he endured, he was able to confidently look at his brothers and say, “But don’t be upset, and dont’ be angry with yourselves for selling me to this place. It was God who sent me here ahead of you to preserve your lives…so it was God who sent me here, not you!” Gen 45:5-8. Tears of a desired faith. Tears of hope. Tears to press on.
My tears. Not shed in vain, but arguably shed too much. This is me.