Photo by Kat J on Unsplash
IT happened three days in a row,
and I’m not afraid to say, I am so glad. I cried. Wept healing tears. Not
really for my own healing, yet perhaps also my own.
The first day involved the telling of my own story with brothers in Christ
who have been to hell on earth and back, and the hearing of one fine young man’s
story as he shared. Tears of joy and victory yet tears of sorrow for what was
learned the hard way. Tears of connection deeper than words can express.
The second day involved a theatre production; real men acting brilliantly well,
informing and inspiring, revealing their miraculous path via God’s grace into
the land of the living. I sat there spellbound, speechless, hardly able to
move, transformed in those seventy minutes. Those men were an extension of God’s
Spirit as they transported me beyond the realm of reality into the destiny of
millions destroyed by the scourge of substance abuse. I was shocked, and I
needed to be shocked. (I should not have been shocked, as I’ve heard a thousand
stories like them, yet every story is shocking, because each involves real
people in tortuous plights.) Everyone needs to be shocked enough to elicit an honest
welp; to be taken into that state of helplessness to know, there, right there
is God. As I sat there, solitary big hot tears rolled, their own stream
produced, wet enough to roll clean off my face. I was morbidly sorrowful, yet I
was honestly so pleased to experience something that can only be described as
healing, because I was connected in an instant with these few
dozen men. Such a connection transcends time. I could know one of these men, and
they me, in ten minutes. These tears were thankful tears; grateful for each of
their wondrous lives.
The third day involved an incredible moment; a tenth anniversary since the
stolen generations apology, the national apology to the indigenous peoples of
Australia. You can never expect certain moments. To bear witness to the tears
of the Aboriginal people elicited more of my own. The essence of reconciliation
was captured in that one electrifying moment on February 13, 2008. (This
article is not about politics, policy or its effectiveness, it’s about tears.)
What my soul experienced is the vision of the Kingdom coming to this earth
through such a momentous national event.
I felt God say, through His
initiative within me, as He gave me cause to be honest as I was confronted, ‘Here
is the truth, and the only way you can be reconciled to it is to weep inconsolably.’
My tears were not inconsolable, but my heart was broken. What God showed me
inspired me to do whatever I can to bring change.
With each terribly impactful moment
I was made anew; I could not return to who I was. I could not undo these
experiences, nor would I ever want to.
Those tears of yours are precious
and hard earned. They exist because you can no longer be dishonest. They roll
because you cannot reconcile this sorrowful thing, but due the incomprehensible
grace of God, these very tears are agents for your very soul’s healing.
We are geared to feel our sadness,
because we are prewired to be honest. It’s why we resonate with sad songs; they
speak to our unreconciled depths.
Our tears are our dear possession;
the riches of a heart full enough to feel.
So feel them, and when you do, feel
them fully and boldly, and you will not shrink, but grow.
Cry and give to your heart the gift
of God’s Presence — the Lord counts all of them (Psalm 56:8).
Emotions are big, and they’re meant
to be felt.
No longer be afraid of them. Tears
are an honest response to God’s language of truth when life is deep.
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