I’ve started to pay attention to my tears.
I won’t deny it, I cry easily. Movies (and commercials), make-believe stories, songs on the radio, the list goes on and on. If you cry, I will likely cry in response. Over the past year, though, I’ve discovered that I’m crying less and less.
And so I’m paying attention to the things that make me cry.
It’s something Emily Freeman frequently encourages her readers to do, so I certainly can’t take any credit for the idea, but it has helped me pause and attempt to discover what it is about a story or a moment that elicits such a response from me.
About two weeks ago I stumbled across a video of a man without fingers expertly playing a Yiruma song on the piano, one that I’ve listened to hundreds of times in the dark of night when sleep wouldn’t come.
Within ten seconds there were tears in my eyes.
And almost immediately, I thought, “What in the actual world, Kaitlyn? Get a grip here.”
But I came back to the same video a few days later and had the same reaction.
There’s something about encountering beauty. There’s something so profoundly gorgeous about someone overcoming life’s obstacles.
His art and his gift back to the world made my body pause and then react without thinking. I froze, my mouth fell open a bit, and tears sprang to my eyes.
Because of art.
Because of one person doing what they were made to do, regardless of the difficulty or the hardship or the time spent practicing when no one was watching.
He just kept showing up and offering his gift.
May we play and write and love with abandon. May we continue to offer our art, whatever it may look like, believing that it has been given for a reason. And long before anyone pauses to notice, may we believe that He has given us something to share, something worth sharing, and He won’t waste a thing.