The Grace of Tears

I am an easy crier. I've made my peace with it-- Hallmark commercials, those little human interest stories they do during the Olympics, my elder son's class singing "What a Wonderful World. . . " Last weekend I attended a banquet honoring graduating seniors at my sister's family's church, two of whom are my twin nieces. I ruefully confessed to my sister, during the slide show, that I was weeping over the baby pictures of strangers.

But some tears are different. Some come from being so filled up, that something has to leak out-- gratitude, humility, real down-deep joy, the transport good art can cause, and salty and true they flow out. Lately I've felt these more real prickings behind my eyes: a huge car service that we were able to pay cash for that should keep our trusty wagon running well on into the future, a boy who has inherited my love of roses and celebrates an open bud with home-run exuberance, another boy who seems more easy in his spirit as summer approaches, a husband who has treasured me back to health, and all of it God's provision. I've come to love those moments of being overcome by grace, so happy and humbled that the very best cannot be earned or measured out, that these bits of wonder are only mirror shards reflecting my true portion, God Himself. And the heart sees beyond the precious but fleeting gift, to the Giver. And overflows.