It's Okay To Cry Every Once In Awhile

When all else fails, it's okay to break.

I'm not a dramatic person. Don't get me wrong, I'm emotional, but I'm not usually quick to jump into the extreme or to worry about what's not even happening.

But pregnancy can make a woman not quite herself. In fact, it can quickly turn her into a weeping, silly mess.

{Our quiet farm road, packed with folks trying to evacuate the fire...}

Last Wednesday when I walked in the front door with a bunch of worried treasures, my Cowboy declared, "Pack yourself a bag, we're going camping!" And that would have been great, if I wasn't thinking about the fire that was burning just a few miles away from the farm. 

I stood in the bathroom paralyzed, looking around for what we might need to take. 

I didn't think I was much a "stuff" person until I stood there in that bathroom thinking about all my "stuff" being gone. 

And when the Cowboy came in and asked if I was okay, I think I must have looked at him with a blank stare, because the next thing I knew, my man did what he always does when he sees me in silent panic. He becomes the rock.  He becomes the steadfastness that has completely left me, and he puts his hands on my shoulders and he looks right into me and kindly but firmly, he tells me how it's gonna be. "Kace, get the pictures, the important papers, and the treasures... a bit of clothing for everyone, and some food... and get in the car."

And I have to listen, cuz he's right. The air is smoky and it's not good for my pregnant self. And even though the fire is still a very "safe" distance from our house My Joey knows, that taking us all away from the chaos of the moment is the absolute best thing to do. 

But that doesn't change the fact that the tears streamed down as I looked around the farm house. My stuff does not define me and I sure as hec won't be taking it with me when I'm off to see my Jesus, but that doesn't mean that I don't love our little abode and the way that over the years we have turned our house into a home, a place that holds memories, a place that quite frankly I don't want to let go of. 

No matter how much you love Jesus, it's okay to cry when you're asked to let go.

The kids wanted to pack up their entire rooms. We told them they could each pick three things. How does a kid look around their room and pick their three most important things? 

I think one of the hardest parts about being a Mama is knowing how to carry four people's hearts other than your own. 

The first night in the camper, my Siah lost it over a pair of flip flops that he had forgotten at the house. He literally cried for 25 minutes. 

It wasn't about the flip flops, I knew that much. 

He's 8, and he's overwhelmed by all the things that he had seen that day... like the man that he saw who drove right through the barricade and almost ran over a police officer because he was so desperate to get back to his home... or the flames that he saw on the side of the road as we made our way home that Wednesday afternoon. He's growing up into this incredible little man, but he's also still so childlike in so many ways... his innocence is one of the things that I absolutely love about him, that I love about all of our children. 

 

So he cried about his flip flops and I held him. I rubbed his head and told him that no matter what God decided for our home, it was going to be alright. But after about 15 minutes of his carrying on, I moved out of compassion and into annoyance. I walked out of their little room in the camper and left him to his own tears. 

I don't do all things well. 

I get tired. 

I get overwhelmed. 

And sometimes, I let my emotions get in the way of carrying out the one needful thing.. he needed to be loved on. I should have stood there with him, no matter how long it took. Now I know. 

These last few days, we've all carried things in our hearts that we, quite simply, were unable to carry with eloquence.  But we're a family, so no matter how inadequate we might feel as we walk through the messy days, we're committed to walking this life together. And that's what makes the messy days somehow sweet.

We pulled back into the farm gates on Father's Day. 

And that night, all six of us gathered in the family room. And each treasure thanked God for our home, for His kindness and His grace that He didn't have to give, but he did. 

And this Mama, I sat right next to My Cowboy on the couch. I slipped my hand into his, and as tears streamed down my face, I thanked God for a steadfast man. For his discernment. For his kindness. For his love on  a Wednesday in the farmhouse that felt too overwhelming for this Mama to carry alone.

It's okay to cry sometimes when we walk through this life. The secret is moving forward through the tears in joyful obedience, and thanking Him for whatever He decides to give, knowing that all that He gives is good. He wastes nothing. And His extravagant love never changes even if our circumstances do.