My daughter thinks it’s funny to tell her father that, at 51, his life is more than half over. (He’s a good sport—when she teases him about being old, he responds in a way that encourages her to continue teasing him.)
Based on the law of averages, though, she’s right. While I suppose it’s possible that Randy could live to be 102, it’s much more likely that he won’t.
Sunday is a day of rest for many, but for me, it’s also become a day that often includes a few tears.
It began during the Covid-19 shutdown in the spring of 2020, during the weeks when we watched church services online via the TV in our basement family room. It had been about a year since my parents died, and it seemed like every service had at least one song or reference that reminded me of them.
I couldn’t have stopped the tears even if I had tried, so I just let them flow. My family began to expect it, even, and having tissues handy became part of our regular getting-ready-for-church-in-the-basement routine (along with hooking the TV up to the laptop and connecting to the livestream).
The outdoor services that we attended later that the summer didn’t evoke much emotion, but when we returned indoors that fall, my eyes began watering again.
I know opinions about wearing masks vary widely, but one irrefutable benefit is that they make good tear catchers. And my child-size masks from Old Navy caught a lot of tears over the winter.
I’ve mentioned before that I’ve never been a big crier. In fifth grade, for example, when all my classmates were sobbing as we watched Where the Red Fern Grows, I shed nary a tear.
I used to think that this meant there was something wrong with me. After living with myself for several decades and observing people around me, though, I’ve come to understand that it’s simply how I’m wired.
I’m not afraid to cry. But when I experience deep loss, I tend to process it first by thinking. (A lot, and often in the middle of the night.) It’s only later—sometimes much later—that tears become part of my grief.
Often, music is the thing that triggers the tears. Which brings us back to Sunday mornings.
Just being at church and seeing multiple generations of families sitting together calls to mind the years we went to the same church as my parents, and how we used to sit with my dad during services after my mom went to live in the nursing home. The tears come when we sing hymns that remind me of my mom or songs that mention heaven or lyrics that talk about life after death and Christ’s return.
Does anyone other than my family notice? I don’t know, but it’s OK if they do.
And who knows? Maybe other people are struggling to hold back their tears and seeing mine might give them the freedom to let them flow.
These days, I don’t cry at church nearly as much as I used to. When I do, though, it almost feels like an act of worship. It reminds me of the godly heritage I have, of the blessing of warm memories, of the day when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes.
• • •
I’m guessing I’m not the only one who gets watery eyes at church from time to time. Please feel free to share in the comments if tears have ever been a part of your worship experience.
♥ Lois
This post is part of a collection called Help for Parent Loss. To read more, please click here.
The tears come at church when we sing hymns that remind me of my mom or songs that mention heaven or lyrics that talk about Christ’s return. Share on X When I cry at church, it reminds me of the godly heritage I have, of the blessing of warm memories, of the day when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. Share on XPhoto by Esther Ware
Other than mentioning Covid-19 in passing, I haven’t talked about it much here.
Perspectives vary greatly. So much regarding how we see things depends on where we live, where we get our news, our health status, our political leanings, the way we were raised, how we process mentally, emotionally and spiritually.
Even so, one thing seems obvious. Fear has been running rampant since Covid took over the world going on two years ago.
Not everything we do—decisions we make, projects we undertake, maybe even cakes we bake—seems monumental and life-changing, especially not in the moment. But the small things can still make a big difference—in the flow of daily life, on our contentment levels, in the joy that we can experience even when our circumstances threaten to get us down.
That’s the spirit in which I start off this new year of Share Four Somethings, complete with a few new categories.
I was talking with a friend at a conference several years ago. She was in the midst of an intense season of stress and grief. She had to be strong for loved ones, while at the same time needed energy to carry on with her very full life.
She shared that her prayer life seemed dry; she felt like she was simply going through the motions. As I listened to her, I was reminded of a time when my own prayers were in particular need of help.
My mind was often foggy. I was tired all the time. I felt dried out, through and through.
I had a little blue box of verses, scribbled out on index cards, that I had been collecting for years. During that season in the desert, I would take three or four cards out each day and turn them into prayers.
As I shared with my friend, these prayers weren’t fancy. I didn’t speak them out loud with any sort of eloquence; in fact, the only way I could stay focused was to type them out on my computer. (I still do that, in fact. I’ve never found a better way to keep my mind from wandering when I pray.)
This season didn’t last forever, but I still have my little blue box of verses. The timeless encouragement and comfort it holds will be there the next time I need it (and I’m fairly certain there will be a next time).
We make prayer more difficult than it is, I think. There are so many books, so many strategies, so many standards we think we have to meet.
I’m not saying the books aren’t helpful. In fact, a long-running piece of my own prayer life is based on two books from Stormie Omartian’s Power of a Praying series.
When we get right down to it, though, prayer is simply talking—to the sovereign God of the universe, yes, but also to the only Person who knows everything about us and loves us anyway.
Even so, as my friend and I discovered at different times in our lives, we sometimes reach a point where we’ve prayed all the prayers we know to pray so many times we’re sick of them.
It’s at times like these—when it feels like we’ve completely run out of things to say—that turning to the Bible and praying God’s words right back to Him can help reopen our end of the communication lines.
• When we don’t know what to do: Send your light and your truth, let them lead me. (Psalm 43:3)
• When we really want a particular thing to happen but also need to hold our desires loosely: Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done. (Luke 22:42)
• When we’re tired of waiting for God to rescue us: I long for your salvation; I put my hope in your word. My eyes grow weary looking for what you have promised; I ask, “When will you comfort me?” (Psalm 119:81-82)
• When a looming season of life makes us feel untethered and without direction: The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me. Lord, your love is eternal; do not abandon the work of Your hands. (Psalm 138:8)
• When we wonder how long God is going to put up with what’s going on in the world: Lord, I have heard the report about you; Lord, I stand in awe of your deeds. Revive your work in these years; make it known in these years. In your wrath remember mercy! (Habakkuk 3:2)
• When we’re feeling weak and alone. I love you, Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my mountain where I seek refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. (Psalm 18:1-2)
• When we’re struggling to be steadfast: Teach me your way, Lord, and I will live by your truth. Give me an undivided mind to fear your name. (Psalm 86:11)
• When we’re feeling overwhelmed: If I say, “My foot is slipping,” your faithful love will support me, Lord. When I am filled with cares, your comfort brings me joy. (Psalm 94:18-19)
• When we don’t have strength to keep going: I cry to you, Lord; I say, “You are my shelter, my portion in the land of the living.” Listen to my cry, for I am very weak. (Psalm 142:5-6)
• When we’re concerned about our loved ones’ hearts: Lord, do not withhold your compassion from [them]; Your constant love and truth will always guard [them]. (Psalm 40:11)
• When the way ahead seems dark and scary: Show me the path of life; in your presence is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16:11)
I could go on with this all day, but I’d love to hear from you too. Please share some scriptures that have helped you pray during a dark or dry season, or a verse that’s helping you now.
Who knows? The verse you share might be the very prayer someone else needs today.
♥ Lois
Prayer is simply talking—to the sovereign God of the universe AND the only Person who knows everything about us and loves us anyway. Share on X When we’ve run out of things to say, praying God’s words right back to Him can help reopen our end of the communication lines. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, Let’s Have Coffee, Inspire Me Monday and Grace & Truth.
I had part of my colon removed when I was in my late 20s. The resident who helped the surgeon mentioned several times that he had never seen someone “our age” in for this kind of procedure.
Maybe I should have known then that aging might take a different course with me. I had to get custom orthotics in my mid 30s (to prevent a bad foot from affecting my quality of life, as the doctor said it would). That was also around the time my hair started going gray in earnest—if I left it uncolored now, I would probably look 20 years older.