We Laugh and We Cry

The words stop me when I come across them, … “the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people…”

They make me pause and close my eyes. I relate so well to such a paradox of emotions. I understand joy dwelling with heartbreak and how sometimes we sit in one or the other for a while.

But many of the priests and Levites and heads of the fathers’ houses, old men who had seen the first temple, wept with a loud voice when the foundation of this temple was laid before their eyes. Yet many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people, for the people shouted with a loud shout, and the sound was heard afar off. (Ezra 3:12-13 NJKV)

They laughed and they cried.

The Israelites, a thriving nation under Solomon, had at one time enjoyed riches, peace, and prosperity. A magnificent temple, where the presence of God dwelled, united them in worship. But because of disobedience, they’d been taken captive, and scattered to other nations who did not know God. Torn from family and their people, many grew up distant from home and faith.

In the book of Ezra, we see them returning to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem, a restoration of more than a building. It represented healing from brokenness, and revival of worship. When the foundation to the new temple was laid, the priests and leaders held a great ceremony.

Some shouted with joy and excitement at the unveiling.  It was new, and many hadn’t experienced or known the old glory. Before them lay a future promise.

But, others wept with sorrow at the memory of the first temple and its former glory. They filled the airwaves with grief for what had once been, for loved ones who died in captivity, and for seventy lost years.

The cacophony of voices with celebration of joy and heartbreak mixed. Far away the sounds were heard, an outpouring of dissonant emotions.

Picture a weeping grandfather standing beside an exuberant newly married young person. Imagine the widow reliving in her memory the splendor of the temple she’d visited as a child, while nearby children clap and cheer. Envision the couple who’d worshipped at the old temple bumped about by boisterous cheering teenagers.

They laughed, they cried.

God’s people, gathered together had vastly differing responses to the same thing. Each reacted according to the lens through which they gazed on the new temple project.

Experience, age, and where they entered into the story magnified what they saw.

When our daughter began to regain some of the deficits from a catastrophic health crisis, people said, “Isn’t it wonderful that she is so much better!”

And she was. And it was. So we took off the glasses of sorrow and put on the lens’ of joy.

She was alive, which in and of itself was astounding.

But there were those who recognized the losses of a healthy active young wife and mother. They knew her well. They saw how much she’d improved from where she’d been, but they’d begged God for more.

And we put on the lens of what we saw and robed ourselves in the grief of what we missed so deeply.

We  journeyed with our daughter from complete paralysis, a locked-in state, to incomplete quadriplegia. It was miraculous, remarkable, and our gratefulness could not be contained. Nor could our tears, for we longed for her to be pushing the stroller with her baby, raising her hands in worship, and back in the busy everyday activities of a mommy and wife.

We prayed for complete healing, yet learned to embrace a cacophony of emotions of grateful sorrow.   

We laughed and we cried.

We prayed for complete healing, yet learned to embrace a cacophony of emotions of grateful sorrow. We laughed and we cried. Share on XThe older Israelites in the book of Ezra with those whose faith had been passed to them, knew that the second temple didn’t equal the splendor of the first. The nation was small and weak in comparison to what it had once been, and the temple reflected it. The riches of David and Solomon were a thing of the past, the grandeur missing. (Haggai 2:1-4)

The Ark of the Covenant was gone. This was the greatest of all griefs. The presence of God didn’t reside within. The people of God grieved for the sins of the past and the glory of those days.

They laughed and they cried.

I hope you see within this paradox something of your own. There are so many times in life when we live in opposite realities. Our children, jobs, finances, marriages, and nation hold joy and sorrow. We grieve yet we rejoice. Two opposing truths we carry as one. In which do we sit?

The Apostle Paul put it this way:

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;  persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. (2 Corinthians 4:8-10 ESV)

We wait for a better world while we live in this one.

Today my husband and I look back and see the trail of years and tears. We gaze at the beauty of our daughter and son-in-law. She sits in her power chair while he stretches on the couch. Her hand rests in his. They laugh at the ridiculous exchanges between three teenage daughters.

And we sit in the joy.

 

*Feature Photo by Philip Schroeder

 

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I’m privileged to have an article in this soon to be released book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also, the book, Blessed by His Love, can be found on Amazon.

My story in the book is “How Three Unexpected Friends Helped Mend Our Heart s”