On most weeks, I couldn’t do this because I usually cry at the drop of a hat. But this week, I’ve only gotten teary eyed three times, so I’m going to share about each of those moments, all of which are very different.
Moment One: I conducted SC WMU Youth Panelist interviews yesterday. The entire morning was an encouraging experience—talking with teenagers who really have things together—but one particular moment quietly moved me to tears. As I spoke with the last girl we interviewed, I asked if there was a particularly missionary who stood out to her. She responded that the missionary who stands out to her was one of the speakers from Blume last year—a young woman whose life was profoundly and dramatically changed by an Operation Christmas Child shoebox. She said, “I just really liked her story because Operation Christmas Child is my thing. I try to pack twelve boxes a year and keep my eyes open for things to put in the boxes throughout the year.” She went on to say that she used to try to pack one box per month, but since she learned about couponing and store sales, she tries to get supplies when she can save money.
Even now, as I write this, I am moved to tears. A teenage girl. Culturally expected to be focused on herself. Has the vision and desire to single-handedly stuff 12 shoeboxes per year. Using financial skills that exhibit wise stewardship. Completely, but quietly, living outside of herself. Twelve shoe boxes per year is one box per month AND one box for a girl and boy of every age level bracket that Operation Christmas Child serves. Twelve shoeboxes per year has the potential to change twelve lives per year. And this is coming from an American, public-school educated girl. This is coming from an Acteen.
Moment Two: I was watching the Olympics last night when I saw a human interest feature on John Orozco. While I’m a sucker for all of the human interest features—I love the dramatic music and video footage from the past—I hadn’t been moved to tears until the end of John’s piece last night. One of John’s main goals at the Olympics was to somehow make life easier for his family—to help ease their financial burden so that they wouldn’t struggle anymore. At the end, as John was talking about how important his parents were in his life, he said, “I just want to make them proud.” With tears in my eyes, I said aloud, “You already have, John. You already have. It doesn’t matter how well you perform. You have made them proud by just being you.”
Again, I find myself with tears in my eyes. There he was, an Olympian who had accomplished so much in his life, still just wanting to make his parents proud. We put so much pressure on ourselves to perform—to be accepted—to earn approval—to be loved—yet, really, we are already loved…not because of our accomplishments but because of who we are. I wanted to remind John of that last night. [Shoot. I've wanted to remind all of the Olympians of that.] And I’m sure his parents wanted to remind him, too.
Moment Three: This morning, Facebook suggested that I become friends with someone who used to be a really good friend (in real life). As a form of self-discipline, I rarely allow myself to send friend requests, rather I wait for the requests to come to me. She hasn’t sent a request, so we are not FB friends. Yet. Like a dufus, I broke my other rule of self-discipline and went to this friend’s page to see if anything was public. It was. And I found myself looking at pictures of a terrible car wreck that almost took both her and her children’s lives. The wreck happened last week. I had no idea. I cried. I cried for the wreck, yes. But I also cried for how time, distance, and life can pull persons apart.
Isn’t it amazing how tears can come from so many different feelings and emotions?
Inspiration, Hope, and Encouragement.
Love, Respect, and Belief in others.
Relief, Loss, and Grief.
All in the form of tiny salty tears.
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