Crocodile Tears

(Following is an excerpt from Beth Johnson's book entitled "Farmer Girl: A Harvest of Faith", available on Amazon.com and in bookstores everywhere.)

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One day in the month of February many years ago, when my daughter was 11 and my son was 9, we found out that we were going to have a baby. This was very exciting news for our little family. We had prayed for a long time to have another child. As the days rolled from one to another, anticipation of a baby lightened our hearts. The kids and I would talk about names and the fun we would have with a new baby. It was a very exciting time.

One morning, I made everyone a nice breakfast. I happily packed lunch boxes, brushed my daughter’s long blonde hair into a pony tail, zipped up my son’s winter jacket and watched them get on the yellow school bus. I cleaned up the kitchen, made all the beds, did some laundry, planned my menu for the next grocery trip, and enjoyed the beauty of the winter morning outside my kitchen window.

But just a couple hours later, Pastor Bill and I were on the way to the doctor’s office.

Something was wrong. I was having some unfamiliar pain. These were not normal symptoms of an early pregnancy. It took what seemed like forever for my doctor to direct me to the hospital. Yes, I was having an ectopic pregnancy. My trusted doctor’s words were, “This baby will not come to full term.” There could not have been any harsher, more devastating, and colder words said to me at this time in my life. We checked into the hospital. The blood work and ultrasound confirmed my doctor’s prognosis. I would have to have emergency major surgery.  

I had lost the baby. I would be in the hospital for 5 days. There would be a lengthy recovery at home. I would remain at home with empty arms and a broken heart.

The caring nurse moved me into a private room at the hospital. It was early afternoon. My doctor would perform this emergency surgery when he had completed his office hours. The nurse kindly pulled up a reclining chair for Pastor Bill to sit beside me. They drew the curtains and turned on some soft music. There in a painful semi-dark hospital room, we waited for surgery. There were no words, only holding of hands, and exchanged looks of deep sorrow. Finally the tears began to appear. I cried and cried. I wept for the loss of my baby. I wept for the pain and sorrow that my daughter and son would soon experience. I cried for the fear of surgery and the long recovery. I cried for the emptiness in my heart I knew I would remember every year in the month of February.

Everyone has a "drowning in tears" story in their life. A story that you can’t even share because your throat tightens up and your words won’t verbalize. The uncontrolled big full tears flow down your warm cheeks and roll onto your collar. These are the stories that we don’t share. These are the stories that we revisit infrequently. They are too painful.

As I was reflecting on this story in my life, I'll never forget how God carried me through. He gave the strength I needed to make it through every day... one day at a time. He saw every tear that dropped onto the crisp white hospital pillow. He saw every tear I shed in the privacy of our home. He knew my heart was broken. He felt my sadness. Those tears and feelings were real. I wasn’t crying crocodile tears. They were the real deal… the genuine heartfelt kind. He gave me the words to comfort Pastor Bill, my daughter and my son. He had His hand on me that February and He holds me this February. God wants us to be real with Him. He wants to bear our pain and sorrow. He loves us more than anyone else ever will or could. He wants to know how we feel. He wants us to share our genuine heart with Him.

You number my wanderings;
Put my tears into Your bottle;
Are they not in Your book? (Psalm 56:8)