I don’t like to cry.  I’m ok with others crying, but I don’t like it when it happens to me.  It makes me feel like I’m not in control of my own body.  It’s the same reason I only have one drink when I decide to have one.  I need to be in control of myself.

This Sunday at church was Pastor Stan’s first Sunday back after having a brain tumor removed.  We were going to do a song called “Forever Reign”, which we had done the Sunday after we found out his tumor was Stage 4 cancer.  As I was getting ready for church, I remembered that Sunday (June 5th), and as we sang that song I sobbed.  I couldn’t sing, I could barely stand up straight, my body ached.  I all-out wept.  So as I thought about this week with Pastor Stan being back, and I knew we were singing this song, I tried to prepare myself.  Surely it would be different this time.  And it was.  I cried AND I sang AND I smiled.  I cried with joy at the opportunity to worship with our lead pastor again.

Those two times were different for me.  I didn’t feel like I had lost the battle over my emotions.  The first time it felt like I genuinely needed to grieve this news and I hadn’t allowed myself to.  I’m a lot like Ada (I know, it’s a shock), and I will often ask her if she wants to cry if she gets hurt or really mad or sad.  She almost always says no.  I imagine myself doing the same, walking next to God with my arms folded.  Do I need to cry?  No.  I may be taking deep breaths to avoid it, but no, I don’t need to cry.  But on June 5th, I ran up onto God’s lap, collapsed, and wept.  I couldn’t move on until I did.  Then on August 7th, I wrapped my arms around God’s neck and rejoiced with tears that overflowed from a happy heart.

I remember being this way when my grandpa died when I was 13.  I’m not sure I will be changing anytime soon.  I know that I don’t need to cry often, but I’m working on allowing myself to when I do.