I know this a title of a recent Fergie song, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I can’t comment on it since I really don’t know what the song’s about. (I just ended both of those sentences with prepositions…yes!)

Last night I was babysitting for some dear friends. Shortly after putting her to bed, their 7-year-old daughter, “Abby,” came out and clearly had been crying.

After I made her younger brother go back to bed (who had to check out why his sister was not in her bed when he had to be), I asked her what was the matter. After I asked her twice, she said, “Oh, all right,” and settled in on my lap.

Abby went on to tell me that she was crying for her mom and dad, but was embarrassed because she’s 7 and shouldn’t cry. After all, big girls don’t cry.

I assured her that even adults cry, and that I cry all the time. (Okay, maybe not ALL the time, but that’s not the point.) I assured her that it’s okay to cry, as long as you aren’t doing it for the wrong reasons, like to get what you want or out of selfishness.

This is a lesson I’ve had to teach myself in the last 6 or 7 years. I didn’t use to want to cry because it showed weakness. Guess what, I am weak. That’s why I need a strong Savior.

Actually, I cry because I’m an emotional creature. That’s how God created me. As a woman, I’m particularly sensitive to the suffering of others. Most often, I cry because someone else is crying, or they are sharing with me their hurt.

Do big girls cry? Yes, this one does. And I’m okay with that.