Shared by Stan Veldt
If this is true--why am I crying? Does it have implications as to my masculinity--or lack thereof? It is 1986. I am 55 years old. I have been in the ministry for almost 30 years. This particular day, I am walking down a street in San Antonio, Texas, carrying a little boy in my arms who can’t stop crying, and I am weeping!
All my life, it has been impressed on me that big boys don’t cry, and certainly a grown man must not cry. It was never said in those exact words, but strongly implied in many ways.
I was sad when my dear mother passed away at 42, but shed no tears. While serving as a Pastor in several places, I had been involved with many tragic family situations, yet while feeling sorry for them, and making my best attempts to comfort them, I never shed a tear.
BUT NOW! The boy I am carrying is a grandson, and has been diagnosed with a horrible disease for which there is no cure; God has finally broken my heart. He was to be followed by two siblings with the same disease, and the tears flowed freely. In the years that followed, a 13-year-old granddaughter passed away suddenly in Spain, where her parents were serving as missionaries.
During all these years, I have learned it is not a sin for a grown man to cry. As a matter of fact, God has used me in unusual ways to minister to others because of the pain I have suffered. (Note II Cor. 1:7—”...as you are partakers of the sufferings, so also you will partake of the consolation.”)
In recent years, I received a call from a young couple expecting their third child, their first boy, who had just learned early in the pregnancy, through an ultrasound, that serious problems were detected. Their hearts were broken, as was mine, and I made a trip to sit down with them and seek to be of comfort. I can assure you many tears were shed, but they were determined to follow through with the pregnancy. Their little boy was born, and the problems were even more serious than anticipated. He spent most of his five months in intensive care. When God called him home, I was given the privilege of conducting his memorial service, and considered it a great honor. That message was delivered with many tears on the part of all of us; at the same time, it was a time of encouragement and blessing as we rejoiced to know he was now with the Lord. By now, you probably know this boy’s name was Eli David Gibson, and I am his great-grandfather. Praise God for tears—even in a grown man!