Emily says that our tears are “secret keepers of the most vulnerable kind, sent to deliver a most important message.” I think she is right. My tears say the most to me about the life I have and the life I long to have.
When you get hurt, you get used to being hurt. If it happens enough, you think you’re invincible, until one day you realize that you’re not and the things that hurt still hurt.
I don’t cry a lot, and I definitely don’t cry as much as I sometimes wish to cry, but there are some things that are guaranteed to put me in tears. Things like Kermit the Frog, or a trip to the ice skating rink with Pip to see Disney on Ice (you should have SEEN her wonder!), or stories that speak to deep desire. Mixing music with any of the above lately has been taking the lump in my throat and translating it into wetness.
And while I haven’t figured out why I try to stop the tears, I’m listening to the messages, slowly letting myself receive the things that speak life.
God gave me three words for living this year: “breathe, open, receive” – and I live through them just about every day. Some days I don’t get past the breathing, and I’m just starting to learn what it means to receive.
“I was just scared,” I offer as I look to Him, letting my tears fall into bottomless grace.
But perfect Love casts out fear, and He waits to hold my dreams again, hands and heart splayed out with scars and tears of His own.