Emotions Make You Cry Sometimes: On Public Shows of Vulnerability

I don’t know if it’s Gen Z or millennials or Xennials or whoever else, but I appreciate how much folks younger than 45 are normalizing emotions. And even when I write this, I pause at saying “normalizing emotions” because we all know emotions are normal. We feel them. We have them. 

We hurt. We experience joy. We sit in sadness. But we also wear masks that grin and lie, that hide our teeth and shade our eyes. We do that, too. 

And I think often about my professors in undergrad. And I think often about the reality that some of them had to have experienced the worst day of their lives the same day we had class scheduled. There had to have been miscarriages and diagnoses, divorces and separations, outside children and personal calamities. There had to have been loss and disease, disaster and hardship. 

But I never knew it. 

And, honestly, I don’t think that’s admirable. 

Professors and presidents and pastors are people, too. 

So I try to do a much better job of showing my humanity in class. 

And. It. Is. Uncomfortable.

I cried in class today. 

Background: At the beginning of my classes, we meditate and then pray. We meditate—or sit quietly—for one minute, and when the minute timer goes off, I pray. 

(I also have a standing invitation for anyone else to pray.)

 (Also, no one has to pray or meditate, they just can’t disrupt anyone else.)

Today went a little differently. 

When I called the class together for meditation, a student suggested I play some gospel as we meditated. 

I looked for the first gospel playlist I had, and the first song was “Safe In His Arms” by Milton Brunson. So I played it. 

And Beatrice Gardner came in, “Because the Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need. He lets me rest in the meadows grass, 

and he leads me beside the quiet stream. 

He restores my failing health. 

And he helps me to do what honors Him the most. 

That’s why I’m safe. 

That’s why I’m safe. 

That’s why I’m safe. 

Safe in His arms. ” 

And there’s been someone bothering me for a while. Someone who makes it very difficult for me to exist. Someone who spends a lot of time making my life harder. 

So, quietly and silently, I began to weep. In class. In front of my students. 

And then it was time to pray. And I prayed and cried. 

And when I said “amen,” I saw students wiping their eyes, too. 

Because I reminded them, and I reminded myself, that we’re safe. We still have peace. We still have rest. Because we still have God. 

And we live perpetually in the safety of God’s arms. 

So those weapons that form still won’t prosper.

And I hope my tears made a difference to someone. I hope they remember the professor who reminded them to feel.