When I was young, my family gave me two nicknames: one was Cow and the other was Crybaby.

My father called me Cow because I was quiet and gentle, the kind of child who could sit beside you all day without making my presence known. Crybaby was given because I struggled to express myself in words, often letting my tears speak in place of my voice.

For a long time, I carried these nicknames like heavy labels. They fed my sense of inferiority, and I tried hard to cover it up. I worked to speak as well as others did, and I forced myself to swallow tears before they rose.

But as the years passed, I began to realize that these names were not lifelong burdens at all. In fact, they were gifts of grace.

Because I was not quick with words and easily misunderstood in conversation, I turned to writing. In writing, I discovered a way to share my heart with more clarity. Even simple gratitude seemed more lasting when written on a card or in a letter than when spoken aloud. Words on paper became flowers that lingered in the hearts of others. I found the same in return: a handwritten note stuck to my refrigerator could brighten my spirit far longer than any spoken thank-you.

And as for being a Crybaby—I discovered that tears are not shameful but sacred. One day, while listening to a sermon, I learned that people who cry easily before God often release stress more quickly and are less prone to illness. I realized how true this was for me. When my heart is burdened, when wounds press in on my spirit, I kneel and weep before God. In those tears, heaven’s comfort flows deep into my soul.

Everyone sheds tears at times—over a sad film, out of anger, while cutting onions, even from tear gas. Science tells us that the chemical makeup of tears changes depending on their cause. But tears shed before God are especially mysterious. Rich in protein, they serve as a kind of cleansing, washing away the waste of both body and spirit.

There is, within a single drop of tears, the mystery of heaven. Time and again, as I pray at the altar with tears, I experience God’s gentle response. Grace and joy surround me like water soaking dry soil. A mother’s tearful prayers for her children, or intercessory tears shed for neighbors, will never fail to bear fruit.

Nothing God gives us is useless. Even nicknames, when seen in the light of God, can become channels of blessing. And for that, I am deeply grateful.