Composure.
It's something I strive to maintain, yet something that has proved increasingly elusive in recent months. As a hopeful child cupping handfuls of salty water from the seashore, by the time I reach the sandcastle, my hands are empty. The water of composure seeps rapidly through the cracks, despite valiant attempts to keep my fingers pressed firmly together.
For some reason, the fiercest battlefield in my fight to maintain composure has been at church. This past Sunday was particularly bad. I knew there was potential to fall apart, since it was my first appearance since receiving the news of my mom's death, but as I was getting dressed that morning, I thought I had it together. Ha. I couldn't have been more wrong.
So there I was, swimming in a vat of people, and I couldn't find the edge, couldn't catch a breath.
The irony was, everyone was so nice about it. I stood in the tiny kitchen in the tea room, sandwiched between two burly men nearly twice my age. As I wiped my tears and tried feebly to regain my composure, the two of them fed off of each other's comments, assuring me that it is good and healthy to cry – necessary, even. The picture itself was quite humorous, to be honest.
I thought later about Jesus and His composure in spite of extreme pressure and heartache. My mind drifted to the day He received the news about his beloved friend, Lazarus. John 11:35 tells us that Jesus wept.
Some will say He wept at the loss of His friend, even though He knew what He was about to do. Others will say He wept over the price of sin, the consequences of an action that precludes death's existence.
Whatever the root of the reason, the King of Kings wept.
So what can we conclude? When should we clench our fists around the desire to maintain self-control and when is it okay to let it all come out?
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