To Cry or Not to Cry
There is no true Autumn in the South until late October. Temperatures fall slightly, the air is less humid, and days are shorter. Eventually, the gold and auburn adorning northern trees make a slow, tardy appearance, although night skies never display a prelude to snow.
Sometimes when I watch the southern sky at dusk with its sublime cast of colors, I nearly cry. I cannot accurately describe the array of violets and fall colors that disappear into a black sky speckled with starlight any more than I can explain the sentiment that fills me with awe at their sight. Only God could conceive these beautiful hues with a radiance that makes me explode with gratitude.
Gratitude moments like these often make me think of my mother and my brother who both died before they turned fifty. They behold horizons from elsewhere and I miss them terribly, my eyes moistening with tears. I pause to tell myself to be thankful for the years I shared with them and to remind myself to practice being in the moment of beauty and sorrow.
As a woman with a sensitive and nurturing disposition, both sorrowful and joyful memories induce tears. A song, a scent, and a photo are just a sampling of triggers that invoke melancholy, regret, bliss, and blessedness. I easily spill happy tears but work hard to sideline those that reveal sadness even though I know they can restore my emotional balance.
More often than I would like, sadness gets the best of me. By nature, I am an optimist, yet reality has a way of bleeding, of exposing its red injustice and brutality, so much so that I want to scream tears. When it is hard to sense peace, I push myself to focus on what is good in the world.
There is good in the everyday and there is good in the extraordinary. A shopper shares a coupon they decided not to redeem, or a driver slows down, stops even, and waves you through a maze of traffic. A mourning parent signs an organ donor form or aid workers clear rubble and feed victims of disasters.
We have all been wounded and we have all been perpetrators. Neither Mother Nature nor human nature can be controlled, but we can command our actions. Thankfully, I have experienced the comfort of others and felt the relief of forgiveness and these recollections bring humble tears to my eyes.
Every so often, I become frustrated when I acknowledge the unfairness I have inflicted upon others and discouraged because I know I will never be the perfect person I want to be. I am selfish, inconsiderate, and thoughtless, instead of patient, tolerant, and sympathetic. When my behavior vexes me, I remind myself that God is a God of mercy who loves and forgives me even when I do not love or forgive myself, and this, too, makes me cry.
“God thinks I’m a good idea,” and “God’s hand holds all that happens.” I read these reflections recently in a blog I subscribe to called Sunflower Seeds and I have chosen both for autumn mottos. I trust in the Almighty to take care of everything because the creator and ruler of the universe has a plan for my tearful self and a blueprint for all of us.
“To be or not to be,” Hamlet ponders as he questions the value of life. To cry or not to cry… of course we cry, because there is value in our tears, tears that define us, heal us, and reveal not our weaknesses, but our humanity. And I believe that those we shed on earth fill a pool of joy for us to rejoice and splash in once we reach our final, heavenly destination.
