A confession. I'm a crier. A sniffling sap. A big softie.
Yes. Even at 57 years old, I tear up, well up, weep, if
something or someone touches my heart; makes me realize how great it is to be
alive; inspires me to remember what a gift from God each day is; what a miracle
it is that love happens in this often broken and ugly world. I weep at a corny TV commercials, grateful
that the insurance agent arrives to save the day! I weep every single Christmas
watching the last scene from the film "It's a Wonderful Life" even
though having seen that flick 143 times, I already know that George will be
rescued from suicidal despair by his friends and that an angel named Clarence
will get his wings.
Sniff, sniff.
I weep when I stand with parents at the front of the church
and take a little baby from them and hold that fragile and delicate soul in my
arms and then drip holy water over that child's tiny forehead, with sacred and
ancient blessings. I weep when I sing a soaring majestic hymn, as the organ
notes waft above me. And yes I wept when the Red Sox finally won it all in
2004! I definitely wept when I saw my
Godson get his diploma last May and flashed back to a day long ago when he had
to hold my hand to cross the street.
When's the last time you had a good cry?
Mine was last Saturday night when I really, really
overflowed with the water works at a family party celebrating the 25th wedding
anniversary of my cousin Darrell and his wife Deb. She had no idea what was
coming and so as 100 or so of us huddled quietly in a banquet room, Deb walked
through the doors and then saw her life love holding a dozen red roses and then
he took her into his arms and then their song played and then they danced
slowly in a tight embrace and she wept and heck, we all were blubbering.
Pass the tissues please.
There is something powerful, therapeutic, spiritual, and
beautiful about being so moved by an event or a person or an act of love in
this life, that we just have to cry. The
tears can signify so many things. That
we've finally let go of some thought or notion or grief we've hung on to and we
can lean into it, let it come. When I
finally wept at my Grandfather's funeral, it meant I knew he was really gone
and with God, but it also meant I did really, really so, so love him.
Tears remind us what is most important to us in this
life. We cry at a wedding because in
this hour of joy, we re-learn that love really is the most powerful force in
this world, that love is really all we need. Tears signal that we are going
into a soul space, deep within, into a mystical realm. We cry in a house of worship because the
music or a sermon or a soft spoken prayer gets us closer to God and to our real
feelings, nothing held back and so we weep. Art moves us to tears because the
best song or symphony or story or painting reveals human truth in a way the
everyday just cannot.
I know folks for whom it is still hard to cry. They fear that once the tears start they won't
be able to stop. Or men, who still think it is somehow less than masculine to
cry; echoes of "Boys don't cry!" holding them back from shedding
tears of sadness or joy. Or we can hang on to an outer shell of cynicism or
snarky irony to protect us from our tears, to push away deep emotions.
The truth is that crying actually takes courage. Crying cracks us open, reveals our hearts and
takes us to the most authentic place of all: being fully human. Remember that
the next time you start to tear up and your first instinct is to tamp it down,
push it back. Here's a gentle suggestion. Let those tears come. Let them flow. It
will do you good. Nothing like a good cry.
So if you find yourself sitting next to me at a wedding,
please have a hanky ready. I'm
definitely going to need it.
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