I’ve always been a softy. Tears have often streaked down my cheeks. But I’ve always tried to hold it in until I could cry alone.
Call it my need to look cool or manly or strong or professional or in control.
If I started to well up I would quickly suppress it and think about sports or food or girls or something.
Candidly, there really wasn’t a whole lot for me to cry about growing up. Compared to other stories, mine was relatively smooth and free from earth shattering tragedies.
Although, when I woke up from my 3rd knee surgery and learned I couldn’t play basketball or soccer anymore, I cried.
When I got a “D” on my report card and was grounded, I cried.
When I was bullied on 7th grade recess because I was a late bloomer and my voice was really high and I still looked 9 years old, I cried.
When my parents dropped me off at college and I saw my Dad cry, I cried too.
When I proposed to Lyndsay and she actually said “Yes”, I may have cried out of pure shock.
When I drove away from our wedding reception and reflected on all the love from family and how God provided me such a wonderful woman, I could barely see the road I cried so much.
When Lyndsay and I miscarried on a mission trip in Peru, I cried.
When God provided us our firstborn son Rett a year later, I cried.
I told you. I’m a softy. And writing a blog about how much I cry doesn’t seem like a very manly thing to do.
But you know what I love about God? He cried too. And I bet He still cries. Every day.
But how could a big, powerful, awesome God cry? We want a God who is strong and in control and all-knowing right? Not a God who gets carried away by emotions.
In John 11:35, we find Jesus’ response to the death of Lazarus, his friend. And there are two words that can change our life. Two words that remind us who God is and who God wants us to be.
“Jesus wept.”
God emptied Himself. He became human with flesh and bones and sweat and blood and tears. Full of compassion, His heart breaks for the lost and hurting and confused. He showed us that what this world may call weakness is actually strength.
“When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother Lazarus would not have died.’
When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled…He wept” (John 11:33-35).
When God sees us cry, He cries too. When our heart breaks, His does too.
Unlike every other religion, we serve a God who “is close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18). He’s been there. He knows what loss and heartache and tragedy and sadness feels like. He feels what we feel.
That’s why He’s called the “Wonderful Counselor” (Isaiah 9:6). The best counselors are the ones who empathize with our struggles. The ones who can say, “I know. Me too.”
A few days ago I cried the kind of tears that are heavy and hard. It was like Niagara Falls had been dammed up for awhile then suddenly unleashed. We moved out of our house of eight years. Before closing Rett’s door for the last time, I stared into his room and his first seven years on Earth flashed before my eyes.
That first exciting night with a newborn boy. Those 2am cuddle times. When he took his first steps across the room. Reading Peter and the Wolf. Hide and go seek. The sound of him singing himself to sleep.
Driven to my knees I cried like a baby. A chapter of life closed. And a new one approaches. One full of uncertainty, but one full of promise and possibilities.
I think God wants us to just let it out. He is like a magnet to hearts and souls that are humble and broken and meek and open and vulnerable and transparent. He wants us to “feel” life, not suppress it for fear of appearing weak.
When we let out the stuff we’ve been holding in, we let in the good stuff of God. His comfort and peace and joy.
Life is too short to mask our feelings with costumes and veneers. God invites us to lean on His shoulder and cry an ugly cry. After all, He’s been there.
So what breaks your heart? And what gives you great joy? What moves you?
Friends, may we fall in love with the One who showed us that “weak” is the new “strong.”
May we trust in the One who cries when we cry, weeps when we weep, and mourns when we mourn.
May we be thankful for the One whose loving tears drove Him to the Cross.
May we follow the One who will someday “wipe away every tear from our eyes.”
And may we look forward to the Day where there will be “no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Rev. 21:4).