I cried

I grew up having worship frequently -- every Friday night and Saturday night for sure, and as many week nights as possible, and it even happened in the mornings around the breakfast table.

During the week we’d pile on my mom’s bed, she'd read us a Bible story and after prayer we’d climb into bed. On the weekend however, worship involved music, and lots of it. Sometimes we’d sing around the piano, but more often the boys played the guitars and we’d sing our little hearts out in the living room. Violins, harmonicas, nose flutes, normal flutes, cellos, electric guitars -- as we picked up various instruments, worship became more and more exciting. We were loud anyways -- you put six kids under one roof and the saying “raise the roof” comes to life. Give us musical instruments however and loud fails to verbalize the chaos. Thankfully for everyone however, our neighbors were elderly and couldn’t hear us anyways. So there was music at home, often and frequently and music made home, home.

I just returned from home today. While there this past weekend we had worship. Now the six have multiplied into … twenty. There are several toddlers, a few babies and the oldest are just starting school. My mom had one request for us on Friday night: to sing around the piano. We gathered and started singing “There’s a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar…” And I cried. That was one of our worship songs growing up and now these little voices knew the words and were belting them out with conviction. 

These aren’t even my children and I’m moved to tears by the sound of their voices. What’s wrong with me? It wasn’t a single tear kind of cry even, it was a steady stream of salty tears flooding my eye balls. 

I know it’s ok to cry, but I’m always embarrassed when the tears seep out my eye lids and drip off my cheek. And there’s nothing sad about little children singing hymns, so why the tears? 

I think it had something to do with the fact that Dad wasn’t there to hear it. He’d be so proud, all these little kids running around, singing loudly, his own family more than doubled. And also, something about being home as an adult, is kind of emotional for me. It makes me step back and realize where I’ve been, where I presently am and makes me stress a bit more about where exactly it’s all taking me.

I could probably continue to squeeze more meaning than necessary out of my long weekend visit home, but it’s a good thing to be able to identify and verbalize those things that make you cry. Tears aren’t always sad; sometimes there’s just a wealth of emotion and the body has to deal with it somehow. 

Emily and William, a dynamic duo