Public Tears (Wedding Post #3)

When I was a little girl, I would see my mother crying at the drop of a hat and something about it bothered me. I was not going to grow up and be that person. I was not going to cry in public, to let people see my feelings that swiftly. I was going to be strong.

It turned out, of course, that this was one of the things that irritated me so forcefully because I could sense something of myself in it. Still, I worked on not crying for a long time. I would rub my eyes surreptitiously at emotional scenes in movies. I would save whatever tears I had for whatever reason until I was behind closed doors. I would not cry much even when family members died...not in public, anyway. I had to be strong. 

I am becoming increasingly convinced that nobody really needs us to be strong, or impressive, or even right. While those may all be good things in the proper context, what we really need, deeply and desperately, is honesty paired with love.

Honestly? Anyone who cares to look can probably see my emotions rippling just under my skin. Probably people would rather see me cry than experience me lashing out in frustrated self-protection. And letting myself cry in public is another way of acknowledging I rely on Someone beyond myself to protect me.

I cried a fair bit over the wedding weekend. Weddings are emotional at any time, and with it being a family wedding it was even more so. Then there was the fact that it was the most Christ-centered wedding service I've ever witnessed, and the beauty of it and the hope of it and the glory of it were so magnificent that tears of joy and of longing were the only appropriate response to what was resonating through my heart.

After the wedding, my mom said, "You were having a hard time up there." 

"I was crying," I said. "But I wasn't having a hard time."

What we have a hard time with is dealing with tears. We want them to go away. We want to fix things, to make things "better." We want to pat people on the shoulder and give them pitying looks, which generally doesn't fix anything at all but may drive wounds further under the surface. It's up to God to dry every tear, not us. And not now. Here, now, our tears can sometimes be our sacrifices, sacrifices of gratitude, of contrition, of love. Don't try to stop that. Be there for people, but be careful not to confuse your discomfort with another person's, of stopping the flow of communion with God with a hastily proffered Kleenex. (I'm writing this to myself as well.)

I am weak, but it doesn't mean I am helpless. He is my help. And He is strong.