Life Without Mother

There was a time in my life before Mom died that I thought I was emotionally broken. I rarely shed a tear, no matter how sad the movie or book or even life circumstance. As I celebrated the happiest of times with friends and family, not able to squeeze out one tiny happy tear to externally demonstrate the depth of my joy, I especially feared my internal function failure.

A few instances of fictional injustice caused my eyes to water. But, before you give me the benefit of the doubt for my kind young heart, the majority of my tears came from my own selfish, angry frustration with someone… usually a sibling (you know who you are… yeah, all of you, but then again, I was the cause of a few angry tears myself).

I would nearly be frustrated to tears over the fact that I seemed unable to express the big emotions of my heart. I used to joke to friends and family about “crying on the inside” when I felt my exuberance bubbling up with nowhere to release.

Then Mom died and I came to find my emotions were in fact not deficient in expressing themselves through the annoying red eyes and face that accompany the supposedly “cleansing flow from the heart” to the sound of uneven gasping as if having just finished a marathon.

Like many, I’m sure, now that I could cry, I found it embarrassing. I had to be strong, have it together, as though each tear became evidence to use against my trust in God. Even to myself. If I trusted God, would I not have joy that carries my heart through tough moments with a smile on my face?

Yes, that could happen. But, tears are not evidence of doubt. Sometimes they are the evidence of faith. Because the LORD comforts us through the tears.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been reading through the Psalms the past few months. So often you can read the tears in the psalmists’ voices, see their water-stained imprint on the page. And every single one acknowledges the LORD in at least one line as their hope, their salvation, the One in whom they trust.

I’ve been encouraged recently. Because I looked back at the poems and songs I’d written since Mom’s death and nearly every one of them (with the obvious exception of the one above) contains the psalmist’s shift.¹ The turning from the pain unto the LORD. He had me. He’s had me close to His heart — and I heard Him calling each time. Even when I didn’t know it was Him. He whispered the truth into my ear and there it is in the words I wrote. That He is my salvation, my refuge, my redeemer, my deliverer, the One in whom I hope and trust.

The brief poem above reflects more my flair for dramatics than reality, as there has been plenty of “flinching” over the years. But, it does reflect the tension that often characterizes tears. Everyone says crying is good for you, but then we all struggle to believe it for ourselves. That letting the floodgates open once won’t mean you can’t get them shut again…

Or maybe it is just me, in which case, I’ve learned the blessed release of tears over these years mean I’m not emotionally broken. And though I still struggle with letting others see me in the midst of tears, I’m learning that sometimes sharing my tears with others provides them the water to grow.

1. You can read most of my poetry yourself on my “Poetry & Prose” page. ↩︎