A Time To Cry. Sung Prayers.

Have you ever said to yourself “I could use a good cry?” Sometimes there need be no reason for this type of release. I recall a nickname from grade school days…crybaby. I had reasons for spilling tears alright. How dare they laugh at my stripped overalls? But these days, brimmed with history, carry the simple weight of being human in a human filled world. As I settle into my fifties the rear view mirror sees more eye action than the windshield perhaps.

Words like regret, sorrow, and grief shove hope, grace, and forgiveness around like the bully up the street. Humans often reach for these words at one point or another, or we find ways to dull their sharp edges and drift into a catatonic glare of being more or less human. Literally. Either we find a way to be superhuman or we fly low like drones.

Somewhere in the middle is where the healthy people live. They dance between regret and grace. Their sorrow is lucid, malleable, and not without hope. Their grief is experienced and eventually drinks from a chalice of forgiveness and acquiescence. How?

God.

My wife gave me the Les Miserable’s movie for Christmas and with the rush and stress of the holidays over, we finally sat to take it in. It was just the two of us humans in the chilly basement. No popcorn. No fizzy drinks. Simply the big screen HD and us snuggled on the couch.

I remember crying when we saw Les Mis on the bigger screen in the theatre. This time we afforded ourselves total immersion. The kids were in bed and Buford lay down after circling a spot just to the side on the floor.

The uncontrolled sobs came when prayers were sung. Val Jean and Fantine slit me open with their aria-like approach to God. Their prayers were released like a bow across the strings of a Stradivarius. I thought of the last time I aired it out to God.

I had fallen asleep after days of vigilance at my mother’s side. My head rested against the womb of my birth. I awoke to find my mother gone. She left while I slept. I thought I was done crying, my eyes had burned for days, yet from deep within a groan filled prayer surfaced. A wail interspersed with language only God knew. The secret lyrics of the heart directed to God. For a moment two of the greatest mysteries, birth and death, encircled the room. I sensed God sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t realized Barbara had come to be with me and share in my grief. What comfort.

Ecclesiastes states there is a time for everything, even a time to weep. Jesus wept. When was the last time you allowed yourself to cry? It is one of the rhythms of the God given human condition. I am not a crybaby but I do cry sometimes.

Comments

  1. Love it, Jerry. Very touching post.
    Blessings,

  2. swcoastn@cox.net says:

    I love this Jerry….a reminder that crying is okay…it really cleanses the soul. And, I love you!

    Mare

  3. I agree with Mary as I cried reading this …

  4. It’s wonderful how these works that move us can bring healing as well.

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