One year ago today
I learned how to cry again.
To cry, not just to feel sad,
or hurt.
One year ago today
I learned how to cry real tears again.
Normal people know how to cry real tears
all their lives.
My life in ministry,
where
you stand
politely,
quietly,
in the company of those who grieve
yet dare not grieve yourself,
this life makes grief a stranger
in the land where we dwell
wall or not.
So, over fifty years,
I forgot how to cry real tears.
I learned how to cry,
rivers of tears,
springs of living water,
one year ago today.
Here is the odder thing;
not that a grandfather would sob
at the grave site of a tiny boy
with my last name.
I have laughed more in the last year
than in any ten years prior.
Apparently, I am thinking,
the loss of one emotion
proffers the loss of another emotion,
perhaps all.
The little boy wore the name John,
a good, strong name for a boy.
Thank you, John, you helped me a lot in a few short days.
Papa loves you.
