A Testimony of Tears

Tears. My son's science book tells me they wash away germs and impurities from our eyes. Perhaps. But I've found them equally effective as soul cleansing agents.

This week someone close to me went to Heaven. You might think that had something to do with my last blog entry, "Does Heaven Smell Like Brownies?" But my friend Jim felt just fine on the day of that post. Today, after a sudden illness, he's gone.

Jim is the third close friend or family member of mine to die in slightly over a year. So, eternity and grief have been on my mind a lot lately. At today's memorial service, I started thinking about God's gift of tears.

Tears are often a testimony to the affections of the heart. When my long awaited son was finally placed in my arms, my eyes over flowed. When my husband and I married, our joy streamed down our faces while the musicians sang. When I watch my father play with my children, I feel a lump in my throat and a sting in my eyes. In each case, tears are a testimony of love.

Sadness, of course, also brings weeping. If a friend hurts my feelings or if I fail to reach a goal I've set, I might cry. Parenting can bring many opportunities for a good wail, and of course marriage can bring happy tears and sad. Again, these tears tell me something about my heart's affections. Sometimes, they also testify to a misplaced affection or a lack of faith.

Which brings me to today's thoughts. When a Christian dies, are we allowed to cry? Many of us would quickly respond, "Yes! Of course we can cry. We are happy our loved one goes to Heaven, but sad to live without him for a while." And I agree. But I think there's more to it than that.

When a person dies, he or she leaves behind the decisions made during a lifetime of choices. Our tears are a testimony to those choices.

Consider a man, for example, who never received a hug from his father. When the father dies, his son cries not only from the loss of his father's presence but also from the loss of a certain kind of hope. The hug will never be. It's a second death.

Or consider a husband and wife who argue before she stomps angrily out of the house, slamming car doors and squealing tires down the street. If she dies before coming home, her husband will not only grieve her absence but also the lost opportunity for forgiveness.

I've been blessed this year. Each funeral I've attended has been an inspiration. The circumstances that caused the funerals were different, and the deceased did not know each other. Yet, there was a common thread. All three lives elicited smiles through the tears. All three lives were lived in such a way that they comforted those of us who were left behind.

Cheri, taught us to live intentionally. She smiled all the time. She blessed people on purpose every day.

Grandmother taught us to face life courageously. She loved God's word and never gave up on even the most wayward of family members.

Jim taught us to live out loud. Whether at home, work, or church, he did all for the glory of God. And while his faith was unmistakable, his generosity was a quiet but very real help to those in need.

All three were lovers of family. At each funeral I attended, children rose to the platform and gave tribute to the impact of the departed parent. Lifetimes full of choices that blessed children who grew into adults blessing others.

And so, I cry. I cry because I want to pick up the phone and ask Cheri to pray with me, but I can't...and I miss her laugh. I cry because I want my children to eat Grandma's famous sugar cookies and open zany presents at Christmas time, but they won't...and I miss the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

And Jim? His death still doesn't feel real to me. It seems like I'll be seeing him at church on Sunday. But I won't. I'll miss his hearty singing and ringing "Amen's." I'll miss his Sunday hugs, and the way Linda looked at him like he hung the moon...he was almost tall enough to have done just that! And as I type, I realize that I'm surrounded by Jim's love. My credenza, my book shelves, and the desk at which I write these very words were all crafted by his loving hands. I was once -- no, many times -- a recipient of his godly generosity.

And so, our tears can be a tribute to a life well-lived. When someone beautiful is taken from our lives, it's fitting to cry. I can't really explain why, but there's something cleansing about that... something that cleans up the grief and helps us stand and face another day.

Tears testify to love. What better reason to cry?

Gettin' Real!
Melodie