The Crying Game

I am thankful to have had a good night at church tonight.  I am even more thankful for the dearest friends... truly.  Having a good experience tonight, while needed, leads me to another place of honesty.  I am anxious about going to my "home" church tomorrow.  See, very few people actually know me on Saturday nights.  I can go worship, hear good teaching, be blessed and go home.  I know that is not how "church" is supposed be.  We are to know each other... be in community... live life together.  But that is part of why I am struggling.

Most people only have a "Sunday morning" perspective of who I am.  Not because of anything that I am trying to hide nor anyone else's neglect; but I believe it is a combination of not really having the time to get to know one another and people often decide what they want to believe about you, true or not.  Sadly, I wish this were only true of people I know casually. 

Let me try to explain.  As you now know, I have had a pretty awful week.  I 've felt extremely alone and at times in deep sadness (among other crap).  I cannot go to church in the morning and just be in this emotional "place" with people.  Please understand, I am all about authenticity and being real.  I am not about wearing masks.  Most often, I am who I am, like it or not. 

Here is the problem: people do not know what to do with Steffanie when she is not "like" Steffanie.  For those who do not know me well, they assume something is wrong with them if I somehow overlook them because I am distracted in my pain.  Because I am generally and genuinely about other people, if there is an occurence where that is not happening they become offended.  Then there are those who do know me better, even well in some cases.  If I do not come in "shining" they can spot it fairly quickly. 

I would not be exaggerating to say that some of them, upon seeing my "lack of luster", will actually walk away before making eye contact... they don't know what to say.  And then there are those who know me well (this is true in any area of my life not just church), but do not know how to "handle" me when I am down.  I am sure that is in part because I rarely am, but when I am down, it's not pretty.  I also think that people have come to know and expect me as the truth-telling exhorter; which I am... most of the time.  But I am multi-dimensional.  People see me as strong, capable, witty, encouraging, and happy.  I am all of these things.  But I can also be weak, (utterly weak) incapable, and deeply wounded; and guess what... I even cry.  I am telling you, people do not know how to handle me when I am in one of those such places. 

Very few people have seen me cry... like actually sniffing, snotting, or any noise, crying.  There are two reasons for that.  One, I don't cry when you are supposed to cry... like at funerals or when someone else it crying, really, about anytime it is expected. I hate it actually... I feel it inside of me but nothing comes out. (Although, I am a sap for Folgers commercials, Hallmark- I take kleenex when picking out cards and chic flicks.)  I just realized as I made that list those are all times that I am typically alone or noone is really watching me.  That leads me to the second reason. 

This last reason goes back to what I said earlier... people do not know how to handle me, or deal with me when I'm down or crying.  I wish I could describe to you the looks on people's faces when they look onto my tears... so I just don't cry much in front of others; to spare them the apparent torment of feeling helpless.  Not only that, but it feels like a rejection of me... that place in me that needs to cry, that needs to feel deeply, is a dimension of me.  If someone cannot handle that, they are essentially rejecting a part of me.  I am not making this stuff up... I have been told (more than once) that people have confessed to not knowing what to do with me.

This is one of the deepest appreciations I have had for my husband (and one of the things I miss so terribly).  He was never afraid of my tears.  He most often, just had an innate sense as to what I needed and he just did it.  He let me cry.  He did not judge me.  He never questioned if my tears were manipulative (and they weren't).  He didn't question me at all.  He didn't think me weak.  He let that dimension of me play out without even a hint of wondering what was "wrong" with me.  It was one of his truest forms of love and acceptance of me.  If I cried hard, even to the place of weeping and sobbing, he just held me tighter... God, I miss that.

VERY few have seen me cry like my husband has... but if you are one of them, thank you.  Thank you for making it safe enough and being strong enough.

So, tomorrow will come.  I will walk into a church full of people, husbands with their wives, father's with their children,  and I with loneliness, a broken heart, and a smile... no one will know the difference.  No one will know that I am sparing them from the awkwardness of not knowing how to respond. 

I just had this "vision" of Jesus walking up to me as I am looking to the floor... He lifts my face up from under my chin, looks me in the eyes and says "Broken is beautiful Baby... you are beautiful and accepted exactly as you are Steffanie, not in part but the whole of who you are."  I begin weeping... uncontrollaby... and it is good.