“If this is not a place where tears are understood, then where can I go to cry?”
~Ken Medema

It is common knowledge among those who know me that I am a crier. My tears come easy and often. My mother has often said that I could be hired out as a chief mourner my tears flow so easily. I cry when I am happy as well as sad. The tears pour forth when I am in the presence of beauty as well as when my heart is breaking. If tears cleanse the eyes of impurities, I must have the healthiest eyes around!

There was a time when I was embarrassed by my easy tears. I saw them as a character flaw, a sign of weakness. But recently I have been thankful that I find myself in a variety of communities where tears, particularly my tears, are not only accepted but understood. Some have even said that this emotional response provides some kind of open space for others to do the same. I hope this is true because I truly believe there is great benefit in the ability to have a place where our tears are at home without judgment.

Growing up I recall going to many funerals. Living in a small town you know everyone and everyone knows you. When someone dies, it is not unusual for people to attend any and all funerals. As a child I was quite accustomed to being in the presence of adults who showed their emotions. I saw both men and women and children cry, people I knew well and those I knew only through the adults in my life. This mournful crying was a part of what it meant to be community, connected through living and through dying.

One Sunday during worship several years ago I remember becoming emotional while singing a particular song. I tried to hide this deep feeling. After the service one of our members came up to me and said words I have thought of so often. “Don’t ever apologize for crying. Your tears are the work of the Holy Spirit.” Her words have stuck with me and I think of them every now and then, especially when tears appear unbidden.

On Saturday we drove into the countryside of Wisconsin to pick blueberries. For most people this would not be a cause for tears. But as we walked into the rows of succulent blueness, looking out over the green hills rolling into themselves like ocean waves,the sheer beauty of it took my breath away. Joining the other pickers who had come to harvest this midsummer sweetness, the emotion welled up in my throat and I marveled that I was blessed to be a part of this marvel. The tears that pools in the corners of my eyes did not surprise me.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of gulls swooping and singing over the harbor of Lake Superior in Grand Marais. Making my way to the water in the early light of the day, the promise of another summer day arrived in all its glory. The water glistened with the yellow glow of yet another twenty four hours of pure gift. Watching the boats head out into the horizon that seems like the expanse of ocean even though we know otherwise, I once again had this feeling of immense gratitude that this life is something I am blessed to live. While no tears appeared, the emotion filled my whole being and I would not have felt embarrassed if the tears would have flowed. They would have seemed an appropriate response to such beauty.

Do you have a place where tears are understood? I pray so. We each need a place where it is safe to shed the tears that well up in good times and in bad. It might be the awesome realization of what it means to be a part of this Creation, this blessed earth home. It might be the sadness that rips a heart apart. Or it just might be a visitation of the Spirit that causes eyes to well up, spill over and connect us once again with the One who breathed us into being.