Rivers of Renewal

As I lay in my bed last night, the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit nudged me, encouraging me to put my thoughts to paper. The consistent theme of crying and tears had become almost a companion to me this week, and perhaps it was time to explore why.

From a young age, tears flowed freely from my eyes like an unbridled river, cascading at even the slightest provocation. I still recall my family’s exasperation during those moments, their irritated glances piercing through my innocent confusion. In my childlike mind, I felt utterly powerless against the tide of emotions that would spill forth unexpectedly. As I grew older, the urge to tame this wellspring became a quest; I longed to regain control over my tear ducts, trying to stifle the unwelcome droplets that appeared like unexpected guests at gatherings.

Fast forward to a year or two ago, when I found myself in church every Sunday, fervently praying for change. I begged the Lord to take my tears away. It felt like an insatiable longing—a yearning to be free from this flood that threatened to wash away my dignity. My pleas grew so earnest that I decided to fast, convinced that through discipline, I could bring about some transformation. I committed to three weeks of nothing but liquids, hoping that this physical sacrifice would yield a spiritual breakthrough, liberating me from those stubborn, unwelcome tears.

Each day was a lesson in vulnerability and strength, a relationship with my emotions that I thought I could manipulate. But as the weeks unfolded, I began to realize that those tears, as disruptive as they felt, were a part of me.

One very special Sunday morning, as I sat in my pew, something astonishing happened at the end of my fast. It felt as if a heavy yoke of oppression had broken free from my spirit, leaving me clueless of the transformation unfolding within me. Yet, as the moments passed, I realized that what happened next was not quite what I had anticipated.

Without warning, laughter erupted from deep within me—uncontrollable, joyous laughter that I simply could not contain. In my mind, I found myself having a conversation with the Lord that went something like this: “Lord, I know I asked You to help me stop crying, but did You really have to give me this?” Tears of laughter felt out of place in that sacred setting; I had thought that tears would have seemed more acceptable in church. But laughter? They poured forth with a relentless joy that felt impossible to hide.

As I giggled, I felt a warmth in my insides—so much so that I thought I might burst. The people around me began to glance over, their expressions shifting from curiosity to concern about the woman at the end of the pew who was losing herself in laughter. Then, in a moment that felt both spontaneous and destined, a kind lady recognized my predicament. She leaned over to my daughter and urged her to touch my arm. The soft, gentle nudge brought forth a ripple effect—my daughter began to laugh, her infectious giggles igniting those around us.

Even the girl sitting beside her couldn’t resist the heat of our joy and joined in, followed by the lady in front of me, who was known for being reserved and composed. The atmosphere became electric; laughter filled our side of the sanctuary, and it felt magnificent!

Despite my futile attempts to shrink away and hide in my pew, the laughter surged on. I laughed and laughed for what felt like an eternity—through praise and worship, even during the pastor’s sermon, where I struggled to suppress the glee spilling out of my very soul. Mortified yet exhilarated, I realized I would have to have a serious conversation with the Lord after the service about this dramatic turn of events.

Earlier this week, something caught my attention—a simple yet profound opinion that our tears are a gift from God. Intrigued, I began to explore this notion. It struck me that in the Bible, references to crying span over 210 verses, while tears appear an additional 43 times. The stories resonated within me—Joseph weeping upon seeing his brothers in Genesis, Jesus’s powerful words, “Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh” (Luke 6:21), and Matthew’s reminder that “Those who mourn shall be comforted.”

David’s proclamation in Psalm 30:5 echoed loudly: “Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” And in Psalm 126:5-6, I discovered, “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy." Even Jesus Himself offered up prayers with loud cries and tears to the One who could save him from death (Hebrews 5:7).

I reflected on how crying or shedding tears emerges as a raw and genuine expression of profound emotion—whether it be sorrow, grief, repentance, or joy. It signifies an open-hearted vulnerability before God. This practice is not a sign of weakness but a beautiful way to communicate and connect with God and with others through our shared experiences.

And so I cherished that Sunday—both the uncontrollable laughter and the realization of how my tears, and now laughter, were threaded into the fabric of my faith, a gift from God Himself.

There are moments when tears seem to spill forth unbidden, and I can’t help but worry they might tarnish my credibility. I’ve even started warning people before the tears come as if that might soften the blow. But as I pondered my feelings, a gentle realization washed over me, much like the golden light of a sunny afternoon.

It struck me that sometimes, those tears serve a purpose greater than I understand. They’re not just drops of water; they’re my heart speaking to God when words fail me. In those raw moments, I find that my tears bridge the gap between my spirit and the Father’s heart. They show me His love in response to the weight of my circumstances, the struggles of those around me, and even the flurry of mistakes I’ve made—those “stupid” decisions that linger in my mind.

I thought of how my tears reflect my compassion for others—the friends and family caught in situations that feel just out of reach, fighting battles that perhaps no one else sees. Each tear seems to carry with it a reminder of our shared humanity, a connection to the grief and joy that swirl around us all.

As I reflected further, a comforting scripture bubbled to the surface of my mind: Psalms 56:8, which whispers of God’s attentive love, “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” Each tear is a cherished memory not forgotten but held safely by the One who understands the depth of my soul.

And then there’s Revelation 21:4-5, with its promise that one day, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying, or pain, for the old things have passed away... I am making everything new!” In that moment of discovery, I felt an overwhelming hope embracing my heart.

So, from now on, I will allow my tears to flow, knowing now that each one carries with it a piece of my journey—my struggles, my compassion, my joys. And I trust that they are never wasted because they pour out my heart, connecting with the Holy One who will bring rivers of renewal as He promises in His Word.