Things I don’t get…

March 4, 2007

Crying. I just don’t get it.

There are many things that I totally don’t get about crying. But this is my latest question: Why do I cry when I cry and not at other equally appropriate moments?

For example… in the last several days, I have generally had the same stuff on my mind. There have been moments that I have completely lost it (on the sound booth floor or in the solitude of my own room). And then there are times that I am thinking generally the same thoughts and feeling basically the same pain… and yet there are no tears.

Anyway… that was it. I’m just puzzled.



  1. i’m in the same flummoxed crying boat. i’m tender, so i know i’ve got tears available for every single thing right now, but sometimes they just don’t come. and it’s weird. because they’ll come out like crazy at other less-appropriate times like it’s nobody’s business.

    flummoxed is a great word, for the record… yes. add it to your vocabulary now and use it frequently (and sometimes inappropriately… because it’s really funny to do that…).

    peace, friend of mine.

    and just keep crying, just keep crying, just keep crying! : )

  2. dittos

  3. The other thing that occurs to me is that there is so much–about ourselves, and certainly about the world we inhabit and the God who loves us–that we don’t understand. Maybe that seems redundant . . . and maybe it is–but still. With something as mysterious and powerful and multiplicitous (yeah, I know that might not be a word) as tears, it shouldn’t surprise us that we can’t trace out the cause-and-effect. And, really, I’m dubious of most of our theories about causality.

    To turn that old Police song back around: we are material beings living in a spiritual world. That is, where we really live and what’s really happening to us is spiritual. The material manifestations sometimes seem to have clear material causality and they sometimes seem to be strictly logical, but that’s mostly delusion.

    That having been said, a couple of related things have occurred to me as I’ve wrestled with this particular quandary.

    1. We do–and mostly un- and sub-consciously–build elaborate defenses and layers of insulation against our being vulnerable as we are when we cry. This not only explains those times that we don’t but also when we do: the latter are simply times at which the defenses (which we don’t see or understand) have been penetrated by forces (that we also don’t see or understand).

    2. God is doing things deep in our spirits (and, indeed, in the deep places of our heart and soul–and I’m not meaning to categorize but simply to throw some convenient labels in the general direction of that which isn’t quite spiritual). When we’re in the proximity of such realities as difficulty, death and eternity, those deep places are more likely to be open and fluid and easier for Him to move. I believe that somehow our tear ducts (and I mean that at least partly metonymously) perceive and respond to the activity there that our other senses have been hardened to ignore.

    And, well, really, it’s not necessarily so grandly numinous, but it just comes down to the truism that we are mysterious creatures living in a mysterious place being loved by the Holy One.

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