When Women Cry
I grew up with three brothers. No sisters. I was a girl, no doubt, but I was a tough kid. Cowboys and Indians, dirt piles and tree climbing, pigtails and pink ribbons. I cried when I was angry or bleeding.
I was thirteen when I found out about women and tears. My first ladies meeting. Mama said I was old enough, so holding my pink Bible and feeling nervous I walked with her to the church beside the palm trees.
Mama pulled out chocolate and a box of Kleenex.
And I found out why.
It seemed that every woman who talked cried. I’m sure my eyes were as big as my face. Who knew that women were like this? I mean, the things they shared were hard things, to be sure, but all these tears?
By the time I was in my twenties, I was used to it. Tears came with groups of women. Not my tears, usually. But it was okay. I had faced hard things in life. I got it. I cared. I loved. I just didn’t quite understand the constant drips of salt water.
Then I got married and faced my first really hard thing. The word that I had feared since my doctor’s appointment when I was nineteen and having medical problems. Infertility. The word that spoke deeper words. I might never give my husband a child. I may never be called Mama. I might never, ever, hold my own baby.
I tasted a lot of tears that first year. Bitter, deep tears. And they left stains.
Not too long ago I sat in a group of women. A gathering of ladies to talk about the book One Thousand Gifts. I sat curled on the love seat with my crocheting in my lap, balancing my Bible, journal and book on the armrest beside me.
We talked. Laughed. Took turns reading our favorite passages. Challenged each other to live eucharisteo. And somewhere, in the middle of the talk on giving thanks, the hard things cropped up.
And tears started.
I understood. I had my own tear stains.
They were hard things. Really hard things. Unbelieving husbands. Hysterectomies. Accusations. Miscarriages. And the last one. “It’s a tumor,” she whispered, “in her lung.” And tears stained her cheeks. Who can ever say goodbye to a mother?
Then another voice spoke, “Jesus, Jesus…” The prayers started. Hands lifted. Women calling out to God from all corners of the room.
I wasn’t thinking of me, not right then; but the prayer came anyway from somewhere on my right. “Lord, you said we have not because we ask not- so I’m asking that those who have been unable will bear a child…” And my name is spoken. And my tears run paths down my cheeks.
Someone handed me a box of Kleenex.
Women cry because they feel. Deeply. There are stains and scars and sorrows that spill out.
And I find my thanks, my moment of eucharisteo, my taste of redemption, right there:
That I serve a God who hears when women cry.
Even me.
this is so beautifully written. and often a moment of panic for young husbands, when they realize their wives are just gonna cry at times, b/c they are not dispassionate creations & feel very deeply 🙂 I’ve had many conversations with my growing teen daughters regarding the same things lately….my one tomboy who says, “mom, what’s WRONG with me? WHY am i crying???” *smile* I wish high school girls had more mentors in this community of women. They can be so very cruel to each other….the ones whose Faith already has deep roots mixed in with the ones whose fears and insecurities lie behind popularity and boys and eating the other non/carbon/copy girls alive to assuage their own emotions. School can be so hard for these dear ones. You are a very inspiring writer. i am blessed by your words. TAB
So thankful you came by!
I will definitely join you in the prayer for more mentors for our high school girls. It is so essential that the older woman come along side the younger women as they grow. It can make such a huge difference in their lives!
So thankful you came by!
I will definitely join you in the prayer for more mentors for our high school girls. It is so essential that the older woman come along side the younger women as they grow. It can make such a huge difference in their lives!
No words…only love for you and these beautiful words.
I’ve never been a crier, but those years of hardness softened me, to others, to myself, to Him.
Natasha girl, that was one of the most beautiful descriptions I’ve ever read. That is us women, in the real, raw world. Thank you dear friend for sharing pieces of your story here! I’m always blessed. 🙂 ~ Blessings back out, Amy
Wow tash. Love you!
xxooxx
We share such similar stories yet so different, Natasha, and when I can’t voice it somehow you do–beautifully! The tears will flow, and the healing will come, and we will be of more use in the Father’s Kingdom because we’ve had tears to shed. So grateful for you, my dear friend.
I love that reminder that we will be of more use to the Father’s Kingdom– so very often it feels like we are “washed-up” and “worn-out” as we struggle through pain. But the truth is that in our weakness He is strong. <3
Boy could I relate to this post. I smiled and I cried as I read this post because my heart was singing “I understand completely!!!” : ) Sometimes I get frustrated with how easily I cry and the emotions that “seem” to get in the way. I love your words we “feel deeply”. I praise the Lord for the emotions, the tears, and the beautiful scars.
May we all learn to praise Him- even through our often blustering tears!
So beautiful…. I needed a good cry today 🙂
🙂
Be blessed Natasha.Thank You for sharing Your thoughts with us.
It just seems right that this brought me to tears. From the community to the prayer… Beautiful.
I cried all over again writing it. 🙂
I really can’t help how much I love you Natasha! Thank you for going to the Well again and for filling my cup to overflowing again. Blessings, sweet Sister.
Oh, thank you, dear.