"You have kept a record of my tears..."

I've been thinking a bit lately about crying. I wonder what sort of a relationship you have with tears?! I'm a big fan of the Christmas film The Holiday, and in that Cameron Diaz's character Amanda tells Jude Law's character Graham that she hasn't cried since her parents split up when she was a child. She tries several times, squeezing up her eyes and willing the tears to come out, but they won't. The moment we know she's really serious about Graham is when she's leaving in a taxi and suddenly realises that tears are running down her cheeks.

Personally, I cry A LOT. I cry at sad films, and sometimes at happy ones too. I often cry when I'm reading books. I cry when I'm watching the news, and even occasionally when I'm watching adverts... I cry when little kids do something cute. I cry when I'm overwhelmed by beauty - looking at a glorious sunset, for instance. I cry when I hear sad news about somebody else. I cry when I'm lost in worship, singing praises to God, and I almost always cry when someone prays for me. Sometimes I've even made myself cry while I'm preaching, sharing the good news of Jesus' love. I also do that really annoying thing, that a number of other women have told me they do too, of crying when I'm angry! 

Many of the situations above cause me to well up, rather than to sob as such, although anyone who has sat near to me during the worship time at New Wine knows there are times when, to use the marvellous Liverpool phrase that I very much enjoy, I've 'cried my leg off.'

I cry when I'm upset too, of course. I cry when I'm sad, or lonely, or stressed, or overwhelmed, or frustrated. 

The one small flaw in this litany of tears is that I absolutely and completely cannot cry when I'm talking to people. I can be with my dearest, closest friends, or in a prayer group, or with wise spiritual advisers. I can be going through a really tough time, and want to talk about it, and know that the person is willing to listen. I can have been specifically asked how I'm doing, and I can be in the middle of describing the many ways in which I am really not doing well at all. But I cannot cry, because, well, PEOPLE. I only ever cry on my own (New Wine worship times notwithstanding - if my eyes are closed you can't see me, right?!).

(Oh, and another small caveat. A few years ago I did the incomparably superb Arrow Leadership Programme. I cried from the moment we started until the moment we finished. There's some kind of magic there, I can't explain it).

Over the past little while I've been beginning to figure out why it is that the presence of other humans (usually) means I can't cry, and what it's about, and I'm starting to understand it a bit more. I'm really hopeful that, over time, this will change, and I'll be able to be a bit more 'in the moment' with my emotions, so that if I'm telling someone about something really sad, I will be able to cry there and then. (One dear friend often (re)assures me that he's certain he'll be able to make me cry one day...!).

A few months into the first lockdown, someone asked me how I was doing. I said that I was up and down, that it depended on the day, or perhaps even on the hour - I guess that's pretty normal right?! Anyway I then said that I was fairly sure that I'd cried every single day of the lockdown. They looked at me in absolute horror! Maybe they were more on the Cameron Diaz/Amanda end of the tears spectrum! Now, almost a year into this whole pandemic thing, it wouldn't strictly be true to say that I've cried every single day since last March, but there are way more days when I've cried than when I haven't. Like, *way* more.

And so I've been thinking about tears. Specifically I've been thinking about what God thinks about our tears. I've been reflecting on those 2 extraordinary words that John writes in his description of the story of Lazarus. One of Jesus' closest friends has died, and his sisters, also dear friends of Jesus', are devastated. Jesus walks with them to the tomb where Lazarus is laid, and 2 short words tell us so much about the heart of our Lord: "Jesus wept." 

What beautiful words those are. That, and the time when he weeps over Jerusalem, are the only recorded instances in the gospels of Jesus crying, but I doubt very much that they are the only times that he cried. Interesting lines in Christmas carols notwithstanding, he definitely would have cried as a baby, and a child, because that's what babies and children do. But I wonder whether he also cried as a man. I wonder (and of course I can do no more than wonder) whether he cried when his cousin John was murdered. Or when his friends betrayed him. I think that perhaps he did. And I'm certain that he sees my tears, and that he understands.

I've also been thinking about that beautiful verse in Psalm 56, written by King David when he had been captured by the Philistines. It's a Psalm full of raw, real emotion, like so many of the Psalms. That's one of the reasons that so many people find such comfort in their words - because they remind us that we can come to God just as we are, with all of our messy emotions, and that he can take it.

Psalm 56:8 tells me that God has literally made a note of all of my tears. (It's worth reading the verse in a few different translations because there are some fascinating and beautiful different ways of saying that). What an extraordinary thought that is! All those moments when I've cried alone, when emotion has burst out of me, and when it's been buried within. God has seen my tears, he has understood my tears, he has even recorded my tears. (It may not surprise you, having read this far, to find that I am crying as I write these words!).

And then, my mind goes to the last book of the Bible, to the stunning vision of the world beyond this world, to the new heavens and the new earth, and I think of that verse which is sometimes read at funerals. John describes his vision of this future city, which God is preparing for his people. And then in Rev. 21:4 we read that "He will wipe every tear from (our) eyes."

One day, I will live forever with the Lord, and there will be no more crying. Who knows, maybe he'll show me the bottles (giant vats...) that he has collected of my tears over the years. Until then, I'll cry on (sometimes), knowing that he sees me. 

A yellow giraffe t-shirt

I've sort of been 'brewing' this blog post for a while now, but even as I type, I'm nervous about how it will be received... will it be a bit too much like just letting you all read my journal? Well, maybe. But then maybe that's just what blogging is anyway. And if you've ever read this blog before, or if you know me in actual real life, then you'll know that I'm a majorly over-sharing extrovert, so hey, whatcha gonna do?!

I've blogged on a similar-ish theme before, just after Mothers' Day last year - http://katewharton.blogspot.co.uk/2014_04_01_archive.html. 

This time it was being at the New Wine England Summer Gathering that made me start to ponder this whole issue of childlessness. (And before I go any further, if you don't know what New Wine is, check it out here - http://www.new-wine.org/home)

 So. I want to write about not having children, and what that feels like for me. I want to do that, although it may make me cry, because I find the writing cathartic, as a way of processing it all. And I want to do it too because it may just help someone else along the way, to think or reflect or face up to this issue for themselves.

I want to be really careful about the language I use, and I hope you'll bear with me. I don't want to offend or upset anyone. I can only share my thoughts and my experiences - yours will be different. And I can (obviously) only talk about not having children from the perspective of someone who is single. The issue of childlessness is a whole different thing for married people who are unable to have children, and/or have lost children. I have a number of friends in that category, and I grieve for them. I can't imagine what that feels like. I've found this blog to be a beautiful and honest exploration of some of those issues - http://saltwaterandhoney.org/

I recognise too that for many single people, the 'children thing' isn't a thing at all. It is at best a peripheral issue, something that inevitably goes alongside being single, but isn't too much of an issue in and of itself - certainly not the main event. It's not something that people necessarily think of when they think of singleness. Single people don't have a spouse. Married people can be childless, not single people. And yet for some (although of course not all) single people, it can be one of the biggest areas of pain.

I would love to have children. I've wanted to have children for as long as I can remember, and I don't think that's just because in a way it's sort of assumed that women will. It was just something within me - I wanted to be a mum.

I love children, and I'm pretty good with them. I can, generally, talk to them, and play with them, and have fun with them and enjoy their company. Whether they're teeny-tiny, or toddlery, or tantrumy, or tweenagey, we can usually manage to get along well.

Obviously I love my friends' kids a huge amount. I have 3 fabulous Godchildren, and those 3 families contain my most favourite 7 children ever. But lots of other friends have kids too, and they're all special.

I really love spending time with children. It's such an awesome privilege to be allowed to be part of a little person's life - that they'll talk to you about the stuff that matters to them, and give you a big slobbery kiss because they've missed you, and slip their hand into yours as you walk down the road.

I spend quite a bit of time around kids at the moment. Partly that's a life-stage thing. Lots of my friends either have small kids (or much bigger kids!), or are pregnant. We do lots of things for kids at church. Just this last week we had 43 kids and their parents/carers in church for a fun day, and then we took them all on a trip to a theme park. It was great - sharing life with them, talking to them about Jesus, seeing their excitement as they went on the rides, hearing their laughter.

And at New Wine too, it was great. We had a fair few kids on our camp site (including all 3 of my gorgeous Godchildren - what a treat!), and it was really fun to have them around and to hang out with them in a really relaxed way.

And yet. You see, there was a bit of a meltdown. That's what started off this whole train of thought. One evening, I just completely lost it. I didn't see it coming at all, but all of a sudden there it was. i was in the main evening session, and a guy from my church walked past on his way to the cafe to get a drink, so I offered to hold his baby while he did. She's 7 months old and she's just so darned cute! We had a bit of a cuddle and a dance, then he came back with his drink and took her back. A few minutes later a dad and a toddler from another local church went past. In fact the toddler raced past with a look of determination on her face and the dad frantically ran after her to try to stop her from causing mayhem. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a giraffe on it. That's what did it, I think. The yellow giraffe t-shirt.

I basically sobbed for the whole of the rest of the evening. It wasn't pretty. There was a lot of snot. I don't even know why I was crying. Well, you know what I mean. I was crying because there are beautiful, gorgeous, adorable small people in the world and I won't ever have one of my own. But still, I don't know *why* I was crying, at that moment and in that place.

I talked to God a lot about it, that evening and in the days that followed. I wondered, to myself and to God, what it was all about. I wondered whether it would always be this painful, whether yellow giraffe t-shirts would always make me cry. Perhaps they will. Perhaps that's ok.

Later I bumped into some lovely friends, who saw past the snot, and prayed for me, and understood. That's another incredible blessing right there.

I'm so grateful to God, and to my friends, for the little people in my life, and for the joy they bring. I pray that I'll always enjoy being with them, even though it might sometimes be hard too. I pray that they'll always want to spend time with me. I pray that I'll never become bitter over the things I don't have. I pray that I'll always stay thankful for the things that I do have. I pray that I'll continue to try to become like a little child myself, as Jesus said I should (see Matt 18:1-3).

I pray for every little person today wearing a yellow giraffe t-shirt, for every grown up person given the awesome job of caring for them, and for everyone for whom tied up in that whole business there's pain, or grief, or sorrow.

I saw this video today. It's unbelievably precious, and a reminder of the total miracle of new life. Don't watch it if you don't want to cry a bit! (And I recommend you don't read the comments after it - people get crazy on the internet...). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fhe44oPdp1U

Growing pains

Why is it that growth can be so painful?! Often in children we talk about 'growing pains', those aches and pains they get when they are going through a growth spurt (although having googled it, it would seem that those pains don't actually have much to do with growing after all...!). However, the phrase 'growing pains' came to me recently as a way of trying to describe and articulate the sort of growth towards spiritual maturity that I'm aiming for in my life.

Last week I was away with a fantastic group of church leaders on the Arrow Leadership Programme run by CPAS - in my opinion, quite simply the best training course on leadership that exists. It was immensely challenging, hugely encouraging, deeply stretching, and a whole heap of fun. However it was also, at times, incredibly emotional, as I had some time and space which I don't always take time to find, and really met with God.

Very often during these encounters there were an awful lot of tears! As an optimist, I gamely put on mascara each morning, but inevitably by about 9am it was running down my face in rivers! As a rule, I don't cry in front of other people. I cry a lot, but it's either on my own at home, in the loo, watching a film, or during church (generally when I'm a 'participant' rather than leading something). I think people's reactions to someone crying are really interesting. Some people are clearly embarrassed and don't quite know what to do, and really want it to stop as soon as possible! Some are very empathetic and themselves get upset if someone else is crying. Some have the ability to simply be present and offer sympathy. Someone told me recently that counsellors are trained not to offer tissues if someone cries, since it can make them feel that they are expected to stop!

Anyway, whatever the case, I certainly went through more than my fair share of tissues last week. But does that mean it was a terrible week? Not at all! They were (mostly!) 'good' tears, in the sense of being to do with healing and refreshing and growing.

I can point to so many times like this in my life - times when it's been clear that God has had something that he has wanted to challenge me on, or there was something that I needed to repent of, or simply something that God had been trying for ages to get into my (sometimes a bit fuzzy) head. In these times there is the joy that comes from feeling God so close, and there is the pain that comes from knowing that I need to grow and change.

For me, one of the main ways I connect with God is during times of sung worship. That's one of the reasons I love New Wine so much - thousands of people all singing praises to God together lifts my soul and feels like a foretaste of heaven. And yet, again, when I'm singing worship to God, or listening to worship CDs, I often find myself in tears as I connect with God.

As I thought about all this the phrase 'growing pains' was going round and round my head. I think this sums up pretty well what happens in these times when we really do business with God. They're times to be grateful for because they're times of growth, when God is shaping and moulding us to become more like Jesus, and more like the people he knows we can be. And yet they can also be times of pain because growth isn't generally easy or straight forward.

God never makes us feel small or silly, and he never wants us to beat ourselves up or do ourselves down. When he reminds us of things in our lives that we need to change, he does so because he knows that we are capable of so much more. And he always uses times of pain and difficulty to teach us lessons that we need to learn, and to grow us in character and grace.

The Bible reminds us time and time again that in the difficult times of our lives God is beside us. In the book of Joshua in the Old Testament we read these words - "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

Recently there's a song by Brian Doerksen which has been cropping up all over the place and has been in my mind as I've mulled all this over. It has this line in it - "In your name, there is strength to remain, to stand in spite of pain, in your holy name."

I'm so grateful to know a God who made me, who loves me just as I am, but who also knows that I can be better than this - that there is a 'me' I can continue to become, with his help. I'm OK with a few growing pains along the way if they help me to become the me Jesus intends me to be.

 

Just because it's pretty...!