I cry at completely inappropriate times. I could never be an actress who delivers one of those gut-wrenching, Jane Austen worthy, Kate Winslet type of performances. I didn't cry when David proposed, at my wedding, my grandmother's funeral, or when one of my best friends walked down the isle. Here's the deal, though. I cried (sobbed really, for like a half an hour) when I watched Toy Story 3. I cried at a Civil Wars concert. I cried (well, almost) when USC lost the Bowl Championship Series to the Texas Longhorns.
There may be something wrong with me. There are moments where I feel deep agony and for some reason, I can't seem to produce one drop. The moments that I do get "misty" seem totally involuntary. Seriously, like I have no control over my body. (Side note: The whole "me-not-crying-at-the-right-times" is the rule, but it doesn't mean there aren't exceptions.)
Anyway (the point, the point, I ought to get to it eh?) I was visiting a friend's church on Sunday and in the middle of worship a girl came out to do Spoken Word. I LOVE Spoken Word. It's all about the salty/sweet combination of poetry, dynamic, and free form. As she was speaking I felt my heart actually begin to beat faster. She spoke this line "I would still rather draw, than listen." And it happened...
The floodgates opened and steady streams made their way from my tear ducts down to the bottom of my chin where I quickly whisked them away before they dropped to my chest. I wish I had every line of her masterpiece for you but basically, in that moment, her words cut straight to my core. It's about control. About the fight my flesh and mind have against the Lord. About the desire to do anything but surrender. About my creative nature that keeps me sometimes from laying down my own dreams and vision for my life. It about so much more than all of those things. But one thing I know, that line is perfectly and tragically...ME.
She went on to talk about brokenness. She spoke of handing out the shards of her life to people, to anyone. I connected with her desire to be real and transparent. I knew that she wanted to submit to the Lord no matter how humiliating it was, no matter how much it hurt. She spoke of death. Death to one's self and to the things we need to put away. She talked about starting new and fresh and clean. She ended in resurrection.
I can't explain it all perfectly. I am not even sure that I have this whole crying things figured out. But I know that in that moment, I just let it all out. I felt suffering, relief, anguish, and overwhelming beauty. I was supposed to be there in that room and to be reminded (once again) that redemption has stories to tell. That this very day is new and is an opportunity to choose life, to choose Christ. That Jesus makes beautiful things out of the ashes and that every seed dies before it grows. And, that there is so much ahead of me. The Kingdom awaits, heaven is near, Christ is the hope that never fails.
This post is a little messy (much like me) and not quite as circular as I usually like to make things. But here's the deal, it's still part of this grand and terrifying adventure that is my every day life with my Savior. It's real.
And remember, dear ones, a day is coming when every tear will be washed away.
Even the inappropriate ones.
