My sweet friend and I embraced and crumbled into tears. It took awhile for her to get there, but after our lengthy conversation about the suicide attempt of her teenage daughter, the relief flooded through her eyes. We embraced and wept. My tears for her were tears of sadness and pain.

Yet earlier that very day, tears flowed as I read the teacher’s glowing report of my grandchild. The tears of joy of a grandmother can be shameless.

I do admit that I am a crier. I cry at romance—any wedding deserves five hankies. I shed tears in church when I think of the awesomeness of God, the great and mighty Creator! Oh, a song of praise or a hymn will start the flow. I empathize with the misfortune of others. I tear up over strangers—news of a soldier lost in war, a victim of injustice, even a movie! If you cry, I cry.

Crying seems to be contagious. There is something about women and tears. I am grateful that God created us with good working tear ducts.

I use to shy away from letting my tears show, too prideful.  However, as I  have gotten older I thoroughly believe that crying is therapeutic, no matter the reason.