I remember two very distinct times I've witnessed my father cry: the first was when I was about 9 years old and we had just come home from the church picnic. A very well-known, popular church member had also been there who was a police officer, and he had been called away on the middle of the picnic on a routine stop for a speeding ticket. The person driving the car had a gun and started shooting. That picnic was the last time we saw him alive.
Our family was gathered around the radio listening to the events fold out one by one. And my Dad had tears running down his face as he hugged me and my siblings close. The officer who was killed had two young children about our age.
The second time I heard my Dad cry was some time after I'd had a suicide attempt (about a year after my husband left for his girlfriend) that had landed me in the hospital for a week. I will never forget my Dad's loud, agonized sighs as he paced back and forth in the emergency room.
Many years after this, when I was about 35 years old, the Holy Spirit convicted me to call and apologize to my parents. I was trying to tell them I was sorry... that they hadn't raised me to think that way... and instead of chewing me out like so many others (including in the church) had over the years, my Dad was so overwhelmed with emotion I could hear the tears in his words as he said, "Well honey, it's water under the bridge. We are just... so glad... that... you are still with us." I had to wonder if, instead of yelling at me or condemning me, this was what God was trying to tell me as well.
I was pretty choked up too.
What if every person was blessed enough to see that their father loves them so much... that he has cried over them.