For Cryin' Out Loud

I cried almost all the way home from work yesterday. Started at the corner of Alabama and Redlands Blvd. and went right up the mountain. No big deal in the life-scheme of things, I guess.

Except that I hate crying.

I didn't used to, but now I hate the runny nose, the goofy face, the red eyes...and the contact lenses that shrink right up and squeeze your eyeballs to death. Mostly, though, I hate that it indicates to me a loss of control on my part, especially if I am alone. In my mind, I equate loss of emotional control (water from my ocular cavities) with a lack of trust in God's care and sovereignty. This applies to only me, of course. I don't really have any hang-ups about other people sobbing. But, what am I crying about if I know Jesus is Savior and I know He is in charge and that all things work to His glory? Get a grip, Slusser!

So, whaddaya know...Jesus loves to make me cry when I am alone.

Clearly, we're at odds here. You see my dilemma.

My eyes well up the moment I ponder His goodness. His grace. His patience. When He tries to tell me He loves me, and would I hold still for just a minute so He can just say that, and could we not talk business for two seconds. When He tries to tell me that all my oughts, shoulds, and woulds are making me smaller, and draining the life out of me, and by the way, you do that because you compare yourself to everyone around you, and I, your Creator, don't see you that way.

Basically, any time I think about Him in a context other than Him wanting my obedience, I run the risk of tears.

So I often choose not to run the risk. Crying is exhausting. I don't have time for it.

I have stuff to do. Emails to send, lists to make, reports to type, people to call, an apartment to rent, people to pray for, stuff to take to Goodwill, things to think about.

I have an appearance of peace and joy to maintain, for Pete's sake! Crying makes that messy! People are watching.

The good news is, I guess, that yesterday was the first time in a long time that I cried, and let myself keep going, and didn't get mad at myself for it. I suppose that's a growth moment. A watershed moment. Get it? Watershed. Tears, wet, water--stay with me here.

That's my prayer for the moment to Him--stay with me, here. Don't let me run off. Don't let me keep everything tidy and clean, 'cause I can do it, and not in a good way. I have something ugly in me that is capable of turning emotions off and on like a faucet. I discovered it in late 1990, and I have had enough experience with it that it scares me to death. I have it in me to be a machine. I have joked that if I were not Christian, I would be so Utilitarian it would be horrid. But I'm not really kidding. It's in there, and there have been times in my life where the emotional faucet was off, and I found it was easier and easier to let it stay that way, or to flip back and forth between what I decided I would care about and what I would not, as it was convenient for me.

My keep-it-clean, emotional give-a-hoot-don't-pollute theory (actually, I think I should say, practice) does not make me a better person. It does not draw me to God. It does nothing for my soul or spirit. Except maybe shrink it.

In short, me keeping me clean and tidy and hospital-cornered makes a mess.

God in his sweet timing, let me run into the same person yesterday who prayed for me back on May 16. She's the same sister to whom I made some of my statements about dislike of crying about 3 months ago. I told her I wanted to know more about grace and be closer to Him without crying.

She laughed at me. In a good, you-gotta-be-kidding-honey kind of way. Actually, that's exactly what she said at the time. And yesterday, it was like just being able to talk with her was a reminder of that, and the tears started a couple hours later. It was a thorough mix of grief, joy, excitement, weariness, anticipation, trust, awe, release...good and messy. I told her she shakes my tidy little snow globe world every time I see her. Praise the Lord for that.

I think I decided my problem is that I am actually on the verge of tears all the time, so I don't let my heart wander over there, where that happens, 'cause I'd never do anything but cry. Never do anything but not have charge of my own responses and abilities and learning and appearance and and and...

Sounds like a "my power is perfected in weakness" life may be possible after all. I think it's not an optional approach to Him, the fullness of Him, the person of Him. If I want more than fire insurance, I have a feeling this is the only road.