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 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 cried tears of joy.
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.
Let’s read on: “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). We know that the best counselors are ones who empathize with our struggles. The ones who have been there themselves. The ones who can say, “I know. Me too.”
Not too long 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. The first seven years of his life 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 approached. One full of uncertainty, but one full of promise and possibilities.
I think God wants us to just let it out. To cry a good cry. Because our tears are like a portal through which God can enter our soul. He is like a magnet to our brokenness.
He wants us to “feel” life, not suppress it for fear of appearing weak. And 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 when we cry, may we know that Jesus cries with us.
And may we trust Him whose loving tears drove Him to the Cross.
And may we look forward to the Day where there is no pain – where Jesus will “wipe away every tear from every eye” (Rev. 7:17).