TEARS

 

TEARS

March 20, 2026

Lately, my tears have been flowing pretty freely. They could break through during a movie, a short film, a personal encounter, a story, or even a slight glance. 

Sometimes it can be a curse to see pain as it exists in the present. Not all tears represent sadness, though. Over the last few years, I have learned that life contains beautiful moments of joy, happiness, and love. This should have been developed in my formative years, but those moments were spent in survival mode, figuring out the next hiding place or the next escape plan. So many tears were dropped in so many different places. Never to be found and lost in time. 

I want this story to uncover and define the tears of joy and the joy of sadness. The tears seem to come from the same aqueduct but from different regions of our hearts. That’s what makes this story both complex and simple at the same time. 

I spent most of my life fighting tears as if they were the enemy. I still fight them from time to time. The older I get, the more I lose this battle. Tears can jump out of my eyes in an instant. 

While I write, I usually play music in the background. I’m writing this story in my office, which also houses about four hundred vintage records. One of my favorites is playing right now, and it is speaking so loudly to me that I have to share it with you. I remember hearing this song for the first time when it was released in nineteen seventy-four, and it became my theme song; it describes my life as it was then. I encourage you to go and listen to it now. It’s called Haven’t Got Time for the Pain by Carley Simon, and it’s about moving past heartbreak and emotional struggles and choosing to focus on healing rather than dwelling on the hurt. It emphasizes letting go of the pain and not letting it take up space in your life. 

The pain I didn’t have time for then was buried deep in my soul, and I promised never to visit it or even shed a tear for it. It didn’t deserve the time or effort, as it had one goal, and that was to destroy me. I know we all have these memories, no matter how we grew up or what we encountered in life. We have a pain that we decided never to have the time for. This was my coping mechanism, and I believe it’s true for most of us. 

Turns out, some sixty years later, I had to find time for the pain, or it was going to end my life. This pain surfaced with a vengeance, and I didn’t know what to do with it. The tears flowed deep into the night, screaming unbearably in my mind. It became a voice in my life and started to control me. It would surface at any time; a simple grocery store or gas station visit would send me over the edge. My heart would start to pound, and I looked for a way out. 

Lisa, my sweet wife of forty years, sensed something was surfacing, and she knew it might be bigger than both of us. She has always had this second sense of my inner being and how it speaks. Her persistent question to me is always, “Are you ok?” She speaks her concern in the softest voice you could ever imagine. She follows with, “How can I help you?” Even today, she said, “I am here; I will shield you. I’m here for you.” She sees the struggle in my eyes, which opens a pathway to my pain, the gateway to my soul. 

One of the primary ways I’ve dealt with pain in the past is to separate from anything or anyone who causes it. It was so simple back then, and even now, I find myself falling back into that way of thinking. If it causes pain and tears, then I want to separate from it. Be it a story or a relationship, I end it and cut it off. No matter the cost, it has to go.

Over the last four years, I have learned that this is not a healthy way to deal with pain. The tears are still there, and these voices still seek to build a front and destroy. I believe I’ve made enormous progress over the last four years by learning to deal with pain; now my tears are turning from pain to joy. The tears flow from the joy of the relationships with friends and family. The healing in so many areas of my life has changed me. With every victory, there seems to be a counter to the pain that surfaces. 

The tears are recognized by what’s encapsulated in them. Every tear has a purpose. Some have the purpose of joy, and some have a purpose of pain release. You have to look at each tear that is released and question it. Why this tear? Look at it and discover the origin and the purpose, and then discover the extraordinary healing that tears can bring. Tears are like writers; they are storytellers.

If I haven’t said it yet in a way you can understand, your tears can lead you to death, or they can bring overwhelming joy to you. Your tears can bring your pain to the surface; it’s an opportunity to discover healing. There is one key element to this whole process: be willing to go down that path. 

The tears of joy are radiant and spontaneous, a sacred release of memories once held or new ones being formed. If placed under a microscope, they would shimmer with the language of love, mercy, and grace. These tears have the power to bring you to your knees, stirring a depth of emotion that words cannot explain. For so long, I’ve lived without them. Now they come quietly, mostly from moments with family members or through simple conversations of victory. Yes, the victories encountered over the last few years have brought these tears to existence. There is a river within me now, no longer held back and flowing freely without restraint.

There is an old saying: “Your past colors your future.” I believe that now, but we still have the power to choose the colors and how they are expressed. The tears of pain and suffering will rise; they are raw, unfiltered, and at times overwhelming. They demand to be acknowledged and not hidden deep in our souls. These tears are a raging river, carrying the weight of our most difficult seasons—the places where sin once took root, where wounds were inflicted, where we faltered, and where we were broken. It’s where torture took place, and it’s where death called us, but we didn’t answer. 

These tears of death are extremely heavy in so many lives today. Seek help from a friend, a spouse, a family member, or even a stranger who will listen. 

Tears are transparent, and when they are seen, they desire a response. Never be so busy that you bypass the opportunity to jump in and join the river of joy or the river of sadness. Both bring healing. Tears are telling a story of His amazing grace. Once lost but now found. Find time for the pain, or it will find your time.  

Lake Raleigh

 

Lake Raleigh

January 16, 2026

A TRIBUTE TO OUR GREAT FRIEND ANNE

This story comes out of a vault from some fifty-plus years ago. If you have followed any of my stories, you know that when I call this a green door story, it’s safe for me to write. A green door story is just that; it requires some energy, emotions, and self-examination. In other words, it’s a story that is fun and a journey back in time. 

The yellow door and red door stories require so much more of my heart, and those seem to be off limits to my fingers for right now. Being in therapy now for more than four years, I can tell you that tremendous progress has been made. I have written one red door story and many yellow door stories. So why are we recapping this as we start to write this story? 

This is the first story I’ve written that parallels right alongside a red door story, and I am treading on a very thin rope that could snap at any time and tumble me into this unwritable experience. For that reason, I will start the narrative beginning with the bike ride to Lake Raleigh. The place I came from was nothing more than a din of torture for my siblings and me. If I go back one frame before this bike ride—one step off this bike and one fall in the wrong direction—I see nothing but torture, darkness, and pain. a time when life had ended for me. Now, let’s see if we can do this. 

On the hot summer days, we gathered together with our friend Phil, my brother Mike, and my brother Chris, who is no longer with us to recount this wonderful memory. He loved to fish. You already know he died at the age of thirty-seven from an overdose. He could never run fast enough from the pain. Chris would have loved this memory. My brother Mike and I have talked about this story recently. Sometimes he remembers facts that I have forgotten.

The lake wasn’t that far from where we lived, so we all would either ride our bikes or walk. When you are young, a few miles isn’t that far. Our path led down a couple of side streets and then to Lake Raleigh Road. It was a dirt road with some gravel spread on it in places. The road was winding and covered with a canopy of trees, not letting too much sunlight in. It was truly a road that was less traveled by any souls other than us. We had our fishing poles and maybe a hook or two. We found our bait under large rocks on the banks of the stream just below this massive dam. I say massive because at that age, this was the only dam we had ever seen. 

There was a large pipe at the base of the dam that had a giant valve on it, some kind of a release of sorts. This pipe had a hole in it, and it sprayed water to the center of the stream we fished in. The dam was old, and now I know it was built in the early 1900s. Water always flowed over it ever so slightly, and it had a smooth finish. It was dark in color and made a peaceful sound that seemed to silence the troubles of that day. It kept promises to us every time we came there. The promise to love us and accept us at its base, no matter what we had experienced and what was to come. It never judged but was a savior to us all. 

This place was so enchanting, calming, and tranquil, and it brought love to our troubled souls. We laughed at stories we recounted over and over. This place was a haven for us all. Our troubles didn’t exist there; the darkness was empty there, and the evil was not allowed in that place. We made sure never to talk about what was going on just a few miles away. There was no way we would ever allow these conversations to happen. 

The dam had its own folklore. According to legend, if you went to the top to fish, you had to be careful not to fall in. Catfish as big as Volkswagens lurked near the bottom, ready to swallow anyone who fell, and they would never be seen again. We respected that place, and in return, it gave us life. From time to time, we would venture up to the top, cast a line out, and then run back down the hill to our safe spot, laughing along the way. It was always a dare to see who would stay the longest. 

We followed the stream, fishing the whole way and gathering bait and fish along the way. Someone would yell, “Got one,” and “Got another one.” On and on the day would go. At dusk, we knew we had to be out of there. There was another tale that said if you stayed after dark, bad things took place there, so we always headed out when the sun was setting. 

One day, we found ourselves near the catfish pond, which was close to the creek. It was turning dark, and we were trapped. We saw a caravan of cars coming in from the back side of Lake Raleigh, and we were scared. Our hearts pounded with fear, and we needed a plan to escape, or else we were going to die. We lay on the bank, peering over toward those cars winding down that dirt road, kicking up dust. Then all of a sudden, a voice behind us yelled, “What y’all boys doing?” We turned ever so slowly, and it was our friend Peanut who had permitted us to fish in the catfish pond the summer before. “Peanut, we just want to go home.” Did you catch that? We wanted to go home. Back to the place that meant pain, suffering, and yes, new tortures, but it was still home. I know it doesn’t make sense, but we wanted to go home! 

I don’t even understand it to this day. The word home meant family; it meant there were times of some togetherness. It’s where our mother was. The one who was supposed to protect us but failed immensely! I’m getting so close to that red door now, so we’d best move on. I’m about to unload on this whole situation. 

Peanut would visit us at the catfish pond from time to time and was a savior of sorts, a friend indeed. After he saw the fright in our eyes that evening, he said, “Come with me, I’ll show you the way out.” We followed him on foot, pushing our bikes up the hill and down a road that was less traveled, and he guided us safely back. He pointed us in the right direction, and I still remember that to this day. It was the safe way. You always have to have a safe way back; never give up! 

Now, some fifty years later, Lisa and I were riding around, and she said, “Where do you want to go today?” I said, “Lake Raleigh. I want to go to the dam today.” She had heard some stories from this place, but I wanted to go deeper and finally write about it. She put it in the GPS, and we followed the directions. As we approached, I saw Lake Raleigh Road on the screen. My heart froze for a moment in time as it all flashed before me. To my right, nothing but destruction, and to my left, Lake Raleigh Road, peace and harmony. A gift that gave me life; it gave us all life. 

The GPS said, “Turn here,” but it was not Lake Raleigh Road; it was the road less traveled. It was the road out back then; it was the road right before where I thought we were supposed to turn. But wait, Lake Raleigh Road was now a dead end. How could it be? There is now a new way in, a new way around. As we entered this new road, I wondered if we would be able to get to the dam and if the stream would still be there. As we traveled this new way in, I could see the old way. Why was this, I wondered. 

We went down one road and then another and another. I was trying to find this place on my own. When I finally listened to the GPS, it took me right to the place I remembered, Lake Raleigh. I saw the dam from a distance, and Lisa said, “Why are you in such a hurry?” 

“I want to see that place one more time,” I said. “I have to see it. Can we even get there from here?” It had changed so much over the years. There were people and places there that didn’t exist back then. As we kept walking on the paved trail, I saw the dam. We headed off-grid to get there, and then there it was. WOW! 

My heart filled with overflowing love and thankfulness for that place. I even whispered, “Thank you! Thank you for providing me with a safe haven in this place. I feel you working in this place even now.” I walked down the stream a few hundred yards, recounting all the memories flooding in my soul, and a rush of light in the darkness reminded me of who God is. 

As I looked up at the dam, I noticed it had changed. The water running down the face of the dam now made a new, soothing sound. Its appearance had transformed as well. The pipe is gone, and the sound it makes today is truly distinct. 

The dam was rebuilt in 1976, giving it a fresh beginning, while maintaining its original purpose: to hold back water, provide those downstream with cherished memories, and serve as a reserve of drinking water for life. A new beginning, a fresh start, and a place that brings life to all who encounter it. Even today, you can follow the stream to reach your destination, and you may encounter Peanut, who will guide you to safety on a road less traveled. You understand. Then, when you return some fifty years later, you will see—you can do it! Don’t quit!  

This story has produced many more tears than I had ever expected. I didn’t see it coming. Remember, God never stops moving. He is still doing it! Trust His road.

www.sandwestedit.com