teardrops and laughter

A couple of months ago, reading Thomas Merton's No Man Is an Island, I grew to expect the emotional roller coaster elicited by his words. Before long, I came to realize that if I was laughing out loud in the middle of one page, I would likely be sobbing on the next, and vice verse. In all honesty, it was cleansing, though disconcerting at first! There were times when I wondered if the book was written just for me, finding myself incredibly grateful when one of my fellow readers was similarly moved. I wondered, too, if the gut-wrenching was purposely juxtaposed with the humorous, of if my sense of humor is just warped enough to find them together. [I realize that it all was more than likely purposeful. In our discussion, there was quite a consensus that he had Help.]

Tonight, in the midst of a text conversation with a friend, I realized I've been living a similar roller coaster, with a twist. A couple of weeks ago, while driving and contemplating some questions, I was struck by irrepressible laughter accompanied by relief at knowing what answer I was to give. Not just once, but twice, on the highway, and then a third time as I later parked the car. Each time I was filled with an amazing sense of joy--kind of an "ah, ha! moment" times 100. I messaged someone that it seemed that God was speaking in laughter, and that I could get used to that!

That's when I began to be moved to tears. Often. I'm beginning to think that perhaps blessings feel like little trails of salt water. In fact, this evening, I chuckled when the thought came to mind that I love the sea air on my cheeks. The difference, though--the twist--is that the tears that came while reading Merton were difficult realizations, or painful observations that I really didn't want to fit, but did. These tears lately are realizations, but of the awe-inspired variety. When I feel something I've always known, but never understood. When a piece of music touches the heart of a message. When a prayer reassures. When a verse I've heard hundreds of times is taught in such a way that the clarity is instantaneous, and so applicable to my being that I overflow with relief, and joy, and even sorrow.

A few months ago, I asked a friend why it is that I cry whenever I pray. Tears are more than just cleansing; they are a way for the excess to escape. Sometimes that excess is pain, hurt, sorrow. But other times that excess is beauty, joy, happiness. And then there are the times when the excess is relief, or understanding, or even Wow! At the moment, I'm relishing the feel and taste of salt water tears, and the realization that I have come a long way in patiently listening. I still need to work on waiting for one question to be answered before asking ten more, but this is progress! Not long ago, I didn't even know I could ask questions!