It's a selfish kind of crying. We feel sad or unhappy; we feel as though God has treated us unfairly. We don't understand the challenges He has chosen to give us and rebellious, we cry out to Him and tell Him that we are angry or upset. We cry because we cannot move forward; we are stuck and stagnant. Our feet are caught within swirls of desert sand and as we attempt to plod along, we find that we are unable to do so. We cannot go on anymore. From our parched throats comes only a helpless, "Why?"
And sometimes we cry for other people. Because we don't understand why God has chosen them as His unique recipient of suffering. They're brilliant, bright, radiant and joyous. They're smart, intelligent, lively and clever. Why is it they who must suffer? Why is it they who must bleed publicly, having lost people whom they love and what is worse, lost them voluntarily? What is one to do when one realizes that one did not really know a person? How should they carry on?
It reminds me of a quote in the book Beach Music:
- We were like moons that gave off no light, attracted to the same illusory orbit. Shyla could barely recover her self-respect after having slept with Capers and having shared every secret with him for more than a year. It was not that he had lied about the war that most troubled her, it was that he had told her every night about his love for her, his undying admiration for all she stood for, his adoration of her body, and his ardent desire that they spend their entire lives together. That she could not sense such treachery and dissimulation in her own lover disturbed her far more than that he'd been secretly working for the state. It was not any residue of Capers and his bad faith she feared, but she did not know how to ever regain trust in herself and her own judgements again. Shyla had always considered herself reliable and incorruptible, but never had she thought of herself as an easy mark or gullible to the point of dishonor. She could easily accept the legal consequences of her own actions, but she could not bear being made a laughingstock or a fool for love. So she turned to me and I turned to her, neither of us knowing that we were both keeping a ruthless appointment with a bridge in Charleston.
~Beach Music by Pat Conroy, page 719
So, my dear one, who is currently in the midst of a very public unhappiness, may you be blessed forevermore; may you meet someone truly deserving of your radiance; may you shine and glow brighter than you ever have and may your heart re-knit itself even though now it must feel shattered all to pieces. The fact that you were the author of its destruction notwithstanding, the pain you must feel is indescribable, so harsh that it must hurt to breathe. Remember only that you are loved by very many, who wish for your health and happiness, that you are a goddess and an inspiration to many, and that this one sadness should not undermine your own sense of reliance or faith in yourself. You are a whole person and your decisions are sound; you could not judge based on what you did not know.
May you be blessed and may you shine like the sun.