One of my favorite accessories to bring out at Christmastime is my grandmothers Christmas hankie. With its border of poinsettias and holly scattered across a cream colored fabric, it feels festive and delicate. I don’t like to use it because it is so beautiful, but I do carry it—alongside the hankies that I use often. Those are ones that I purchased or embroidered myself, or more practical ones that my grandmother used.
Ladies’ hankies are a throwback. A relic of the past that I would love to see revived—not just because they are ‘sustainable and reusable,’ but because of what they represent.
A hankie requires preparation. Washing, folding, remembering to carry. They are more than a tissue; there is thought given for tomorrow’s need. A personal item designed specifically for tears. Think of all the items in your purse—keys, wallet, phone—nothing else acknowledges that we cry.
A hankie anticipates tears.
These days, my eyes don’t well up because I am perpetually sad or depressed. But occasionally, a line from a hymn or a truth from a sermon will stir my heart and fill me with emotion that just…bubbles up to the surface and leaks out a bit.
I have learned that I can feel deeply and still function. I don’t have to steel my heart. It’s okay to be tender. My hankies quietly absorb my tears and don’t make a fuss.
There’s wisdom in carrying a hankie. A maturity that says, I know tears will come, but I am prepared for them. I anticipated them.
God is prepared for those tears, as well. According to Scripture, they are precious to Him…why else would He put them in a bottle and keep them in a book?
Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book? —Psalm 56:8
Tears are never wasted, they are kept. Valued, even when they are mixed with thankfulness. Tears and faith are not opposites.
The fact that my eyes still well up a year and a half after losing my mother isn’t a flaw, or a sign of unresolved grief. It simply shows that my heart is still tender.
But life goes on, doesn’t it? We don’t always get the luxury of ‘having a good cry.’ Tomorrow’s checklists exist. But God will meet us there.
I’m thankful that He is not frustrated or surprised by my tears. I don’t need to be ashamed of something that He values and keeps.
That Christmas hankie also reminds me that Christ, too, experienced the full range of human emotion when He came to earth.
For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. —Hebrews 4:15
I am so thankful that Jesus did not distance Himself from sorrow. He wept with those who were weeping. And His coming was not just to be touched with our grief but to redeem us. He came as a Savior, born to die, born to suffer so that we could have eternal life. And the same God who keeps my tears has promised that some day He will wipe away every one.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.—Revelation 21:4
Until then, I will wash and fold my hankies and keep a fresh one with me. Not fussing, not seeking pity, just quietly prepared for my tender heart. Even when those tears are mingled with the other joys of Christmastime.
To me, tears testify that Jesus didn’t desert me in my greatest time of need. And He is there for you too, friend, carefully saving each one.
…Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen. —Matthew 28:20
