Wouldn’t it be wonderful if tears flowed in colors? My daughter asked.
Blue, of course, for sad tears.
The grayest, dullest tears for those saddest of all.
But bright yellow (with my favorite touches of orange-sherbet-and-petal-pink-colored-peachiness) for happy tears.
Green tears for feeling buoyantly alive (just in case some of us cry for this reason).
Maybe fiery, reddish-orange for tears of frustration… with a tinge of black if we’re really mad!
Pink melancholy tears for those times when I’m not exactly sure why I’m crying—other than, I’m a woman, and every woman deserves a good cry once in a while.
And the purest, whitest teardrops for those most sacred occasions when only precious tears can reveal the joy within.
Just think—when seeing someone teary-eyed, we would instantly know the source.
Mom! Why are you crying? What’s wrong? My daughter asks as she enters a room,
to find me conversing with her dad, her grandma or a friend…
Sometimes we’re in the car, discussing one of life’s many challenges…
And sometimes when we’re together, I’m reminiscing or sharing a blessing…
Without warning, the tears start to flow.
It’s not uncommon for me to begin our church service in the jail with women laughing,
excited to be out of their cells for even a brief hour…
Within minutes, though, as our voices lift in song, one or two of them will start wiping their eyes…
Still singing, I reach into the back of my Bible case for a tissue and offer one to each of them.
Smiling, they take it, and cry even more.
I don’t ask, knowing God sees the reason for their weeping.
But silently I rejoice in the quick work of the Spirit and the Word…
At turning up the hardened soil of hearts once tender, but now rocky and crusted over.
After the songs I assure them, It’s okay to cry—just think of crying as our pressure-release valve,
to wash away the dirt and debris from our hearts…
Allowing God access to our deepest, innermost thoughts and struggles, feelings and desires…
He already knows, ladies, I say… Just be honest with Him and let your tears do the work
He intended them to do.
I am one who feels everything deeply. Every hurt, every heartache, every turmoil, every joy. Unfortunately, there seems to be more struggles in life, than non-struggles.
And when I’ve cried all the sad tears from my reservoir,
emptying the deep well completely, pouring them out at the feet of Jesus…
He catches each one.
You number my wanderings; put my tears into your bottle; are they not in Your book? – Psalm 56:8
When months of trial go by, beating me down, pounding me raw, molding me humble,
I become so excruciatingly blessed by the smallest gift—the tiniest glimmer of hope.
Tears of relief and gratitude instantly appear… as if a dam is broken…
flooding my entire being with His love…
Washing my spiritual vision to see Him more clearly…
In those times when something good takes place, when something grand is handed to me,
I can do nothing else but weep tears of joy in God’s remembrance of His child.
O Lord my God, I cried out to You, and You healed me… For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning… I cried out to You, O Lord; and to the Lord I made supplication… You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, to the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever. – Psalm 30