E-Letters

Love for a Cry Baby

By Mark Haskins
Dec 10, 2009

"Big boys don't cry." How many times did I hear that growing up? How many times did I tell my son that as he was growing up? Why do we perpetuate such a lie? There are times to weep (Ecclesiastes 3: 4), but seldom of our choosing. We should not recoil from or avoid tears for "...the highway to Zion pass[es] through the valley of weeping..." (Psalm 84: 5, 6 ASV).

I think it is fair to say that all of us "bigger boys" have cried at some of life's major events. For me, generally anything involving my kids of a monumental nature (good or bad) can prompt tears. Occasionally, I admit that the right movie or song, at the right time, can loosen the damn behind which tears are stored. I cried in the movie Momma Mia (go figure?), during the song "Bring Him Home" in the musical Les Miserables, and frequently during Amazing Grace and Handel's halleluiah chorus.

One week's recent cry, however, was different. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried three times which, in numerical terms, is about my six-year average. Moreover, I cried for three different reasons, none of which were akin to any of the aforementioned. And, I am here to declare that my week of crying was good...it took me to Zion, where He is.

On that Monday morning I awoke with a clear, sharp, double-you-over, pain in the upper left part of my chest and arm. It hurt...blumin' did it hurt....it hurt so much I was brought to tears. As the Psalmist wrote, "My bones are in agony...and I drench my couch with tears" (Psalm 6: 2, 6 ASV see also Psalm 38: 6-8). By day's end, and after a visit to the ER, it was pretty clear the pain was due to a bulging disk. Been there, done that. A year earlier I had had the same experience. Back then, the experience had sent me on a road of: eight weeks of pain pills; lost days of work; foggy memories of my son's wedding; and ultimately, surgery.

Twenty-four hours later I cried again. My body parts still hurt, but the pain meds were helping some. This time I cried because I was soooo ticked. I didn't want to go through this again. I didn't want the discomfort, the medicated fog, and a forced time out to life. I was angry that this was happening to me....again! I was so frustrated, so helpless to undo it, fix it, or overcome it. Have you ever been there?

Pain meds and sleeping pills are how I made it through that night. The Lord was there but I didn't know where and I'm not sure He answers prayers when He is shouted at and severely questioned. At least in the heat of that night's battle, I was anything but a loving, valiant, believing warrior. My guess is, He patiently watched as I simply threw a man-sized temper tantrum. Have you ever done that?

By Saturday night, the pain meds, the cortisone, and the traction had had some effect. I felt ok enough to join three other couples in our home fellowship for dinner. All week, I had not told any friends about my condition. I didn't want to have to entertain their well-intentioned, "how are you doing?" queries and sympathies. Am I the only one who construes such twisted relational logic?

Much to my chagrin, however, my wife had bumped into one of the guys coming to the dinner and had told him about my week. Great. Indeed, the queries and expressions of concern came. I sloughed them off. "I'm fine. No worry, I should be back in stride soon." I sat through dinner without really entering in, thinking, what a phony I was. I had just had a miserable week and I hadn't even let my closest sisters and brothers in Christ know about it. Didn't I believe in this community, the body of Christ, stuff (Romans 12 & I Corinthians 12)? To make matters worse, all evening I found parts of the conversations around me irritating. In short, if it was possible to be full of self-righteousness and self-pity at the same time, I was a Hall Of Famer at it for a couple of hours that evening. Any other members out there?

Mercifully, dinner ended and we got up to head home. Not yet. Everyone wanted to sit in the living room and pray about some of the issues and people that had come to the fore during the dinner conversation. Ok, I can tough it out for another half hour. Just as we were about to begin, one of the women said, "And, oh, Mark is it ok if we pray for you?" "Um. Ah. I'll be ok...no need to..... ah, I guess so... ok, if one or two of you want to."

She prayed for my neck, my pain, for my joy to return, and for the Lord to be close just as the Psalmist had (Psalm 38: 21). I felt so unworthy of her prayer. I felt so defeated because I still hurt and knew I needed His hand of fellowship to face this potential medical journey all over again. Mostly and wonderfully though, I felt loved. I felt loved by this sister in Christ and by the others gathered. I felt exposed and it felt safe and good. I felt Him there. Those believers loved me with God's love. I cried (the third time that week) at the tender way they ignored my desire to not be focused upon and gently, lovingly, and directly said, "We love you and we are taking you and your pain before the Lord." They did just that as I sat there, listened, melted, and knew they were ministering to me (Ephesians 4 & Colossians 3). Lord, thank you for loving me and comforting me in spite of how I ranted and railed, cursed and complained, disconnected and despaired (Psalm 38: 9). Thank you for the body of believers who gather 'round us, minister to us, and show us Your love. Indeed, "weeping may tarry for a night but joy cometh in the morning" (Psalm 30: 5 ASV).