I cry ugly. Some people seem to have the talent for crying and still looking good, graceful, and even poetic. Not me. Both of my daughters, when they were little, used to practice crying hard enough for tears to fall in front of the mirror. Seriously. They’d try different angles, expressions, and tears. Somehow, they mastered the art of pretty crying.
Me? I completely missed that class. When I cry, my face gets blotchy, my nose turns red, and my eyes swell up like I’ve gone a few rounds in a boxing ring. It’s not a pretty sight.
Not only do I cry ugly, but there’s also a good chance my tears will make my contact lenses fall right out of my eyes. It’s extremely unfortunate to lose a contact mid-sob. Sometimes, I manage to recover it, but more often than not, the rescue mission fails. Later, I’ll find the poor thing dried out and clinging to the bathroom counter like a forgotten tear.
Hold it together
So, in addition to crying ugly, I risk suffering financial loss every time emotions take over. Naturally, I’m highly motivated to “hold it together” for the sake of both vanity and finances!
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t avoid tears:
I cry when my young daughter gives me a drawing she made just for me.
I cry when I miss my family, who live far away.
I cry when I stub my toe in the middle of the night.
I cry when I watch a story about an animal rescue story, which of course can result in financial consequences.
Besides these, there are life experiences that can move me to tears so intensely that I may struggle to see the path ahead. Emotions can run so deep that my soul’s pain blurs my vision. Those are the kinds of tears no one wants to cry.
Tears have worn me out
I am worn out from sobbing. All night I flood my bed with weeping, drenching it with my tears. My vision is blurred by grief…
Psalm 6:6,7a NLT
When we go through those moments, it’s tempting to think that “no one” could ever understand our pain. No one has ever gone through what we are experiencing. This is true to an extent, as pain is a highly individual experience. What is not true is believing our pain is so great and unique that no one can relate to us and help us.
In Genesis 21, after Abraham’s son of promise, Isaac, was born, his first son, Ishmael, and his mother, Hagar, faced many hardships. Sarah, Isaac’s mother, understandably was protective of her only child. She wanted them both gone from the household, so they were sent away into the wilderness.
Uncontrollable sobs
Imagine being Ishmael’s mother, rejected by her son’s wealthy father, wandering in the wilderness with her son, and running out of water. When the water was gone, she couldn’t bear to watch Ishmael die. She laid him under a bush and sat at some distance, waiting for what she believed was inevitable to happen.
Then she went and sat down by herself about a hundred yards away. "I don’t want to watch the boy die," she said, as she burst into tears.
Genesis 21:16 NLT
Tears overwhelmed her in an impossible and intractable situation. Uncontrollable sobs shook her as she feared her son was going to die. She couldn’t see through the flood of grief and was unable to find a way forward. But then, her eyes were opened when God said:
"Go to him and comfort him, for I will make a great nation from his descendants." Then God opened Hagar’s eyes, and she saw a well full of water. She quickly filled her water container and gave the boy a drink.
Genesis 21:19,20 NLT
Her eyes didn’t open because her situation suddenly changed. Her eyes opened because God met her there in her place of tears.
Before God spoke to her, Hagar believed she was in an impossible situation. However, what she thought wasn’t the truth. God had a plan for her son, He had a bright future in store for Ishmael. Her tears clouded her sight; it wasn’t until God opened her eyes that she saw a well full of water.
It’s hard for us to see what God sees in everyday situations, let alone when tears blur our vision and overwhelm our hearts. When we’re caught in the middle of pain, loss, or fear, it feels like we’re wandering in a wilderness like Hagar was, with no clear way out. But it’s precisely in that wilderness of sorrow that God will meet us.
When everything looks hopeless in the wilderness we’ve been driven to, and we can’t see past our tears, He appears. He opens our eyes to wells of hope and provision in the most unexpected places. What once seemed like a dead end turns into a path leading to refreshment and life. Although our journey felt hopeless, God guided us all along, leading us straight to those wells.
I tried to hide the tears
In the early years of our marriage, we struggled with repeated miscarriages. Our first son, Tom, was born without any complications, and what joy he brought to us! We hoped to have one or two more. But again and again, I found myself in hospitals with the familiar news, “I’m sorry, but you lost the pregnancy.”
After our fourth loss, I was exhausted. I tried to hide the tears, I was good at it. But inside, I was shattered. I mourned the loss of our children, blamed myself for whatever I did wrong, and wondered if I had the strength to try again.
What I knew was that God wasn’t at fault. How did I know that? Because God is the Creator of life. He is good, and His intentions for His children are good.
Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow.
James 1:17 NLT
I had settled this truth in my heart long ago. God is not a thief, nor is He a killer, and I knew God’s will for me was to give me abundant life (John 10:10). We live in a fallen world, we are imperfect, and an enemy is seeking to devour at every opportunity. I wasn’t about to blame God for the loss of our babies, but I still didn’t understand what we were experiencing.
Life had to go on
But life had to go on. We were in the USA when I experienced my last miscarriage. I had just been released from the hospital, and it was time to travel again. Once again, I had to hold the tears back. As missionaries, we had to keep going because our time in the States was limited. There was no time to feel sorry or mourn. As I always did, I got on a plane with my husband and flew to our next destination: Texas, where we planned to visit connections and attend a conference hosted by Pastor John Osteen of Lakewood Church.
We arrived late to the meetings and slipped into a row near the back of the auditorium. A few of the “heavy hitters” of that time were there: T.L. Osborn, Kenneth Hagin, and, of course, Pastor John Osteen. T.L. Osborn was near the end of his message when we arrived. He wrapped it up, and Pastor Osteen stood, beginning to pray over the audience. What a beautiful time it was, witnessing others receive encouragement and words of hope.
Suddenly, he turned and pointed his finger at me and said, “You, the young lady with the blonde hair.” Well, we were in Texas, the land of blonde-haired women. Several of us raised our hands, asking, “Is it me?” He kept pointing until all but my hand went down, and he said, “Yes, you. God is saying He is healing your body now.” With that, he continued with the meeting.
I was stunned; I didn’t feel any different. However, I noted the date, April 19, 1989. When we left the meeting a little later, I remembered that earlier in the morning, during my daily devotions, I felt prompted that God would answer me within a year.
Smiling instead of shedding tears
A few weeks later, after our time in the USA ended, we boarded a plane with Tommy, who was four years old at the time and headed back home to Africa. In the back of my mind, a small seed of hope had been planted. And I found myself smiling when I should have been shedding tears.
It was several months later that we discovered we were expecting a baby. The pregnancy became somewhat complicated halfway through, but God was there for us. By my fifth month, all complications had gone away, and along with my growing belly, our hope grew.
To ensure we would be close to a hospital when the baby arrived, we flew to Nairobi, Kenya, for the birth. The location where we were in Zaire wasn’t ideal medically. Additionally, we had to register the birth abroad as US citizens, so to us, the closest place with the facilities needed for our child to be born was Kenya.
The afternoon our daughter was born was just like any other day. The doctor decided to induce labor since our little girl was in no rush to arrive. When she made her debut into this world with a loud cry, I noted the date, April 18, 1990, one year since Pastor Osteen’s word over me. What a day that was when God brought Amanda Anne into our lives. What a well of refreshment after a long trek through the desert.
On days like that, it’s okay to cry ugly tears.
God sees every tear
Don’t let pain and tears blind you to the wells of water God has placed around you. In the middle of heartbreak, confusion, or unanswered questions, it’s easy to believe there’s nothing left but emptiness. But just as He did for Hagar, me, and others, God can open your eyes to see what’s been there all along: His provision, His presence, His care.
He hasn’t forgotten you. He sees every tear, hears every silent prayer, and knows the weight you’re carrying. God has a beautiful plan, not just for you but also for your loved ones. Let Him open your eyes to the well, even if you feel too broken to lift your head.
God sees you, even in the wilderness. Let Him open your eyes. The well is closer than you think, and the water will heal the broken places of your soul.
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