What My Tears Don't Mean

I felt inspired by an article my friend shared on Facebook.  The article was about helping a friend after the loss of a baby.  As I read the author's words, the sentence below struck me. 

"Of course I might cry when you bring it up in the grocery store. But of COURSE I want you to acknowledge what Sheryl Sandberg calls “the elephant in the room” – in my case, the fact that my baby has died."

You see, I haven't lost a baby recently, and while I can identify with all this article shares after my abortion twenty-one years ago and my miscarriage 7ish years ago; it was actually the bit on crying that gave me pause. 

I am a crier.  It is crazy the way people respond to my show of emotion.  I get it, its awkward and if my tears are in response to the real-life trial I just shared with you, I usually give voice to the awkward, but I am not apologizing for those tears. 

Why? 

Crying is normal.  Pretending it isn't, is what is not normal. 

My tears in response to life don't mean:

1. I'm weak

2.  You should leave me alone

3. You should just restrict our talks to butterflies and Kardashians.

4. I need you to fix my problems


If I trust you enough to share my heart with you and be vulnerable, then swim in the awkward with me.  That is the path to true relationships. 

When I preached two weeks ago, I said the following which I whole-heartedly still agree with:

"Truth, authenticity, vulnerability and humility, birth - compassion, kindness, patience and true relationships."

We live in a culture that is zapping the true, authentic vulnerability out of our existence and we are lacking a compassion for those around us and a necessary connection as a result. 

Sure its hard to sit in silence with someone who's facing grief, or hug a friend when you aren't a hugger, but the things that really matter, typically are hard. 

This truth doesn't just apply to me, it applies to us all.  In the past few months, I grieved with friends going through divorce; friends at a funeral of a loved one.  I've talked with friends walking in grief from the loss of a mother, friend or child and just got a call last week, that my sister's friend abruptly passed away.  I have family battling cancer and friends who kids are also warring against that evil disease, I have friends who lost a job and are not sure what will happen, and friends struggling with depression or substance abuse. 

Crying is a way to process our hardship and feelings. Crying is a healthy expression of emotion.  Sure there is a time and place for everything, but when in the company of friends and family, we should all feel safe to share our heart. 

Let's be real, and give others the space to do the same.  Life is hard enough without having it have it all together and pretend we are all good, when we aren't. 

 

• Do you need to give yourself or someone in your life space to cry? 

• Do you need to swim in the awkward without having to have all the answers or make someone feel bad for their ability to show up in the conversation? 

Go be a friend and a listening hear, offer a hug and let people be where they actually are, even when its uncomfortable or stop pretending you are okay when you are truly struggling.  Being real is where the journey begins.  God bless your week!

The Empty Swing

When I saw this photo on unsplash.com, I was filled with a surge of emotion that is inexplicable.  It took my heart to a topic that has found residence in me over the past few years.

Truth be told, until the day I birthed a child, I could have died any day and been fine with it.  I wasn’t suicidal or reckless, but I felt no inhibitions to chase after life.  While I do struggle with anxiety, I had a solid spiritual confidence with no fear of the end of life, and I was ready to meet my Savior if that time ever came.  I still hold that confidence, but when my son was born, I instantaneously felt a tether to this world like never before. 

 I love my step daughters but coming into their lives later in the game, and having been raised by their dad, I didn’t really feel they needed me, at least not like the helpless baby I held in my hands for the first time on January 26, 2011 at 9:02am.  It was a reason to live like nothing I had ever felt.  

Now, after birthing two kids, that calling to be here on earth, to walk the journey with them, is stronger than I have ever felt or imagined.  I am well aware I do not get a choice in the number of days I spend on earth.  That is a God decision and I must trust him no matter what.  But those are weighty words. Its one thing to say them (or write them as the case may be) and another to walk them.  The other side of this coin is the thought of losing one of my children.    

I’ve never held my own child, then felt the loss of that life.  I have experienced loss, in abortion, years of infertility and miscarriage.  Those loses were real and I still walk out some of the grieve of those occurrences today, but I cannot fathom the loss of a child who I have held and raised.  To know someone by name and to watch their personality dance before you each day, then be without them anymore, is something that hurts me in an empathetic place beyond explanation.  As a woman in ministry, I have walked with people who have had to live this tragedy in real life.

It is this emotion that fills my heart when I look at the empty swing.  I see what should have been, what was and is no more.  I see loss and grief staring at me through the absence of a child on the swing. It reminds me to pray for those who have experienced this pain.  It reminds me to treasure what I do have and to see the beauty in each day, even when marriage and motherhood seem tiring and mundane.  We only get one shot at this life and we must cherish it.  We never know what tomorrow holds, we are only given today. '

As I end this post, I wish to write some names that I remember, names of children who left us too early.

I remember...

Jaxson
Justin
David
Sydney
Lauren
Daniel
Tyler
Danielle
Tanner


"Lord, teach us to laugh, but don't let us forget we cried." - Bill Wilson