I'm No Cry Baby

Really, I’m not. I get sad and hurt just like everyone else, but it’s rare I cry about it. Not because I’m cold-hearted or brave; it’s just not my normal response. I’m more likely to cry from anger or exhaustion, but even then it has to be pretty extreme. I’m not particularly sentimental either, though I will admit to shedding a tear or two at the hands of Hallmark, a handful of sappy songs, and a few movies I was suckered into watching (OK, I sobbed during E.T. in 7th grade, but it was an isolated incident). Those sorts of tears are usually shed begrudgingly because I feel I’ve been manipulated, like someone jerked my emotions around for the sake of the emotion, and I get annoyed with myself for playing into it.

But there are tears that spring from a deeper well, and they invariably begin within the first verse or two of a hymn or praise song. Whether it's one of my favorites or one that I'd never choose, something about hearing and singing the words floods my soul with joy, and the tears just flow. And it's not sentimentality. The "story" of an innocent man suffering on a cross for the sake of others is Hollywood-quality sentimental gold, but to confess out loud that "it was my sin that held Him there" and "His wounds have paid my ransom" transcends sentimentality. It’s substantive, and it's personal. An audible confession of my great need and His great mercy. And it doesn't stop there. There are so many songs that beautifully express our weaknesses ("Just as I am...with many a conflict, many a doubt/fighting fears within, without…"), affirm His providence and faithfulness ("Hast thou not seen how thy desires e'er have been/granted in what He ordaineth?"), rejoice in the beauty of His creation ("…I consider all that Your hands have made/every newborn's eyes, every new sunrise…"), and extol His majesty (“…only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee/perfect in power, in love, and purity”). There are more examples, of course, but the common thread through all of the songs is worship. My friend Maria summed it up nicely when she said, "it's the realization of who God is and what He has done" that moves us members of the Kleenex Club to tears.

Even so, I have often wished I could turn off the faucet. First of all, it's uncomfortable, and I don't mean lump-in-the-throat uncomfortable. Crying makes people uncomfortable, and spontaneous crying can leave people wondering how to respond. Which makes them uncomfortable. I think. Or maybe I just assume that. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable. In fact, it makes me so uncomfortable that I've developed all sorts of techniques over the years to disguise the tears (fanning myself, staring at the ceiling, pretending there is something in my eye, "allergies!"). Yes, I know I'm not fooling anyone, but thanks for playing along with me. Secondly, my ability to literally sing His praises is hindered when I have to pause to compose myself every few lines, and it's frustrating.

Still, I am certain my tears are a gift. Years ago, I pled my case to God, "please take these tears away; let me sing to You and of You without crying," and He answered that prayer. I stood in church the following Sunday and sang and felt…nothing. God was still there, of course, but my spirit was unmoved. I quickly retracted my prayer and resigned myself to a lifetime of smeared mascara. For whatever reason, God has hard-wired me to respond to worship with tears, so my tears must be God-ordained. Do they sometimes make me uncomfortable? Sure, but Jesus never said, "follow me, and you'll never feel uncomfortable." In fact, just the opposite is true, but mostly because we waste so much time and energy focusing on ourselves and how we are perceived rather than focusing on Christ. As for my desire to sing through a hymn without crying, it is apparently more important to me than it is to God. If God wanted me to sing, uninterrupted by tears, He'd make it possible. Since it rarely happens, I have to conclude that He values my tears more than my performance. So if you spot me with watery eyes and a red nose, chances are I’m fine. I'm merely expressing my love for God and gratitude for His love for me. So please join me in praising Him…and could you pass me a tissue?

My Son at the Cross

I count it a great blessing and privilege to work at school where we celebrate Easter break and gather together as a campus for a special Easter Chapel. At one point during Chapel yesterday, our principal simply played a recording of "Amazing Grace" and asked students to reflect upon Easter and pray. A church group had just finished a short play depicting the events surrounding the resurrection, and a wooden cross from their production remained on the stage. Students were given the option of praying in their seats or coming up to the foot of the cross to pray, and handfuls of students in grades K-8 took turns coming up to the cross. I love seeing and hearing children pray, but seeing my own son, kneeling at the cross with his head bent in earnest prayer, is an image that was burned into my heart yesterday, and I will treasure it always.

I will treasure it not merely because it was a poignant picture to tuck away in my memory, but because of the truths wrapped in the imagery. Indeed, Zack would have been just as close to Christ sitting in his seat, and his prayers would have been just as acceptable to God. The cross the children gathered around holds no power or significance apart from whom and what it represents, but seeing him kneeling there was a beautiful picture of my young son's relationship with Christ and his understanding of the gospel. I have no idea what words his prayer contained, but I do know he has accepted Christ and has an understanding (far beyond my understanding at his age) of what it means to be a child of God. I have many hopes, dreams, and prayers for my son, but that Zack would know and follow Christ has always been my greatest desire for him. God's answer to that prayer is precious to me, and the mental picture I now have of Zack at the foot of the cross is a gift.