Not Crazy About These Things

Not Crazy About These Things--

There are a few things I simply do not like to do.  Take, for instance, what I was doing a few minutes ago.  We have wood floors.  While I really do enjoy the warmth they give to rooms, the floor in the kitchen causes me pain and distress.  Between the planks everything that was once on counters, on the stove or in the refrigerator finds a place to hide.  When I am in the cleaning mode, I sit on the floor and clean out the space between the planks.  I do not like to do that.  No, I don't.

Our water comes from a well.  Yes, that means we need a water softner.  Even with that huge gadget in the basement, sometimes the minerals from the water appears in the most annoying places.  Like on my white clothes.  Or in the toilets.  Or on the glasses in the dishwasher.  Scrubbing toilets is a necessary chore, and one I do not enjoy.  If I don't engage in that activity, our toilets look like the worst service station bathroom you have ever seen.  So, brush in hand, off I go to swish and splash so that toilets are sparkling.  Clothes?  Sometimes I have to use them as rags and purchase new ones.  Country life can be wonderfully annoying.

Ironing is right up there on the list of things I don't think of as joy-producing.  But, I do like to leave the house wearing clothes that look fresh.  Not clothes that look like I slept in them.  That has happened a few times.  On those days when I need something quickly from the store, and I race in to get it wearing the sloppiest clothes I own..that is the day I see five to twenty people I know.  No make-up, hair barely combed,  paint clothes..And there they are.  All the people I admire looking like they just walked out of a boutique and hair and nail salon.  And aren't they just so polite as I make excuses for my appearance.  I look just fine, they say.  I honestly want to either crawl out the door or slap them for saying such lies.

Sometimes writing is an activity I don't enjoy.  Words are everywhere.  They are strung together in sentences and paragraphs.  Enough paragraphs and you have an article, an email, a novel, a letter.  Reading what someone has written leaves me with such a sense of wonder.  How in the world did they actually sit still long enough to produce?  Didn't they want to leave the words alone and take a walk?  The hardest part for me is forcing myself to sit down, open the computer and begin.  Once that task is completed, I can usually think of something to share.  But, when I think too much about needing to write, I tend to see the computer as the enemy that is trying to lure me into a trap.

There is one more thing--well, there are several, but I am going to concentrate on this one--that I don't like to do.  I have given this quite a bit of thought over the years.  Some would say I am too stubborn to engage in this activity.  They might also say that I see it as a weakness.  Perhaps they are right on both counts.  This is an activity that I will push down inside myself even when engaging in it would bring such blessed release.  That one thing is crying.

Tears flow for many reasons.  They fall quietly when I witness something very sweet.  Maybe a couple exchanging vows, or a parent and child enjoying a moment together.  They trail down my face when I am awed by the wonder and beauty of life itself.  These are my moments.  They are my special times.  These tears are joyful, grateful tears.  They represent the fabric of life.  The blues that are calm, the reds that are spicy, the greens that are peaceful, the yellows that are joyous.  They leave my eyes and heart and travel down my cheeks when I experience a special moment with a friend.  Those tears tell another that I am right there with them.  Where I truly want to be.

Then there are times when they flow because of saddness.  A loved niece fights the battle with cancer.  Cancer wins.  Grandparents and parents leave this earth.  Friends move.  I move.  Jobs are lost.  People argue.  Hurt surrounds. Hearts are broken.  Relationships fail.  This list is long.  Whatever touches our lives and causes pain has the power to bring tears along for the ride.  These tears can be healing.  They can bring that release I spoke about earlier.  They can help us clear our heads, hearts and minds.  They are truly our friends.  Sometimes after an especially long cry, we feel at peace.  This peace maybe short-lived, but at least we can breathe for a moment and see that there is a way out.  or around.

Ok.  Maybe I don't hate to cry.  The older I get--and those numbers are adding up to a big one--the more I realize that sharing life means laughing when things are funny and silly and crying when hurts surround.  It is such a blessing to have a few people who don't mind the tears.  In fact, they just might cry along with me.  These are the really special ones.  Let's be honest.  Crying ruins eye make-up.  Not to mention the reddness that surrounds the eyes and nose.  There is not much pretty about sobbing.  Or maybe there is.  Maybe red eyes and noses and sniffles mark us as human.  Maybe tears separate us from other life forms.  Maybe because we have the ability to care, we will always have a tub of tears just under the surface waiting to be released.

This is from a book I read.  Sometimes tears are the best words a heart can speak.