The Art of Crying

When God breaks our heart like His

When I was little I was a “boohoo” crier. You know that child in the supermarket sobbing on the floor and loudly wailing for all to hear? The child in the restaurant whose loud wails pierce people’s ears and hearts with discomfort? The kid in the shoe department crying because the shoe “hurts,” but it’s 3 sizes too big?

Yes, that was me.

As a child, I was constantly reprimanded for these loud cries. I remember a family friend saying, “Madison Marie, you are too big to cry so loud,” or my mother whispering for me to hush, begging my cries to be softer, quieter, mere tears.

However, as a 5-10 year old I had no idea how to make my cries “quieter” or what that meant. I was simply letting out the big vat of emotion I felt for whatever reason, that particular day. But once I left elementary school, I learned to reign it in, to make my tears quieter and less heard. If I did cry it was alone in my bedroom sitting with my back against the wall, my eyes shut tightly wishing the world would stop spinning the way it did.

Eventually, this became hardly crying at all. In moments of desperation, as I wished to let out my pent frustration, anger, sadness, etc., I could not bring myself to any release. Even when I wished to cry the tears failed to come. I pressed and pried and oh my, I tried and tried. But no.

No crying.

Except of course when I least wanted to. When someone asked me how I was or what I felt, suddenly, the tears that had failed me for so long came to the forefront like a wall of water- a torrential downpour.

Recently, I think I have relearned the art of crying. And no, I don’t mean art as in the purposeful work of an artist awaiting a well-up of tears. But I mean the beauty in the release of emotion. The beauty in the intimacy that tears offer a person as if they were telling a story of their lives or their day. The way tears pull back the mask we so often wear without realizing, guarding our hearts with shielded faces. The way tears pass through mascara and leave dark tendrils across the face of their presence and the put-together facade of pale skin fades away to be painted anew with brushstrokes of messy black lines and raccoon under eyes.

Yes, I think I am relearning the art of crying. Joyful crying has not been a true experience of mine before.

I remember when I was 7 years old some friends of mine had a Dolphin Tale, a movie theater birthday party. Every little girl at the party cried at what I loosely remember as a young girl’s reunion with a dolphin (don’t quote me on that) and I remember trying to muster up the tears to match. I mean surely it was a very sweet moment. I thought as much. But, I wasn’t deeply profoundly moved to tears.

Despite being quite the crier growing up, I was never the kid who cried at external things. Sad movies didn’t bring me to tears, nor did puppies or joyful moments. I did cry at a scary campsite story but not at the kid singing on ‘America’s Got Talent’ with an incredible God-given voice. And I have always been that way. My friends cry at a couple’s reunion on the television screen, and I am not in tears. People at a worship night are breaking down, and trust me I am moved by God’s presence, but in a different way. The wavelength of tear-tonedness is not one I know well.

Yet recently… my goodness recently that has changed. I went to a Bible study and was in tears as I heard the story of Abram being called to Canaan and later fleeing to Egypt from famine. I cried at the end of the study just talking to a girl about how sweet the Lord is and how kind. I got in the car and a conversation with a friend once again led me into tears, and as we sat outside my apartment building in her car, I broke down. I sat across from my mom, on our coach, talking about faith and the Lord, and again tears caressed my face. I laid in bed speaking to God and was met by these faithful friends. I sat on my roommate’s floor as waterworks broke out. I let my tears kiss my phone as I shared my heart with a friend.

Everywhere I turn recently a swell of emotion in my chest fills me up and pours out in warm water works and it is quite strange to be certain. But, it is also oh’ so beautiful. It is a comfort and a reminder of the Lord’s goodness. It is an unexplainable joy that lifts so high and expands to the point it cannot be contained. Just as dew moisture concentrates in the clouds and must find its release by pouring down on the earth, my tears do the same. The Lord is watering the garden of my heart with tears raining down on my cheeks. It’s a strange thing to explain and to experience. It is one that I would forsake for nothing. I have been blessed with these constant waterworks in a funny and peculiar way.

They make the Spirit more real to me, the living water of God more tangible. In tears, I feel God’s movement and presence. I feel hope coursing through my veins. And as it all comes to a head and I prepare myself to be an endless waterfall of emotion and water, I know it is here I am reminded of my baptism into the body of Christ. I am brought back to my beginnings with Him: Standing on a stage at a little Methodist Church in California, water trickling over my head and down my back making me shiver. I don’t have a full understanding of what the Lord is doing at that moment, my 9 or 10-year-old self, but I know something is happening. Something grand and important.

Perhaps, that is how I am now too. I know the Lord is working and yet it’s in unseen ways. My tears are just a manifestation of His work and glory.

Yes, I think I am relearning the art of crying.

Photo by Henry Be on Unsplash

Note: For access to voiceover content consider upgrading your subscription to paid! This will also give you access to past locked articles and new paid subscriber-only content. As a full-time college student, your contributions to my work help make it possible. Thank you for your support. Truly.