{From Oct 2017, right after our first two miscarriages and Jeff’s dad’s sudden death. I was just sitting by the river praying and this came to mind so I’m revisiting this again. It continues to encourage my heart.}
What is wrong with me??
I leaned against the kitchen cabinet, trying to keep the sobs silent. The kids played, oblivious. Jeff worked outside. I just couldn’t stop crying. I tried to text a friend, but a few words in I quit.
Too much. Don’t even know where to begin.
Another deflating disappointment, another super confusing complication that leaves me bewildered, wondering where God is leading all this tangle of seemingly dead-end roads.
I came upstairs, figured I’d put the clean sheets on the bed. Do the next thing.
And there, beside my bed, was my answer. To what was wrong with me.
Except maybe it’s not wrong.
There, beside my bed, I saw the display. My pregnancy book. My miscarriage book. The Pro-Life book. There’s a book on how to provide marriage counseling to those in need. To the left is a book on preparing your daughter for sexual and emotional purity. There’s a photo of my grandma, who passed away this past year. Underneath them all is a phone-book sized biblical parenting book that accompanies a video study. You can’t see the Intercessory Prayer book but it’s there too.
Each book represents an aspect of my life that tears at my heart, that weighs on me, that causes me to cry out in prayer, that, at times, keeps me awake at night. Each aspect represents a part of this past year, something we’ve walked through, or are walking through.
You’re probably familiar with these aspects too, and more.
None of them are cerebral studies. I’m not gathering data for a business presentation.
Each represents, in some way, a broken heart.
Friday night, Jeff and I watched Joan of Arc. I had seen it before, but I was struck afresh by this brave & broken-hearted girl who united France and died a martyr, because she cared.
To care is to cry. To break.
A month ago I spoke to a gathering of pastor’s wives. Before the conference, I was in the midst of yet another emotional episode, and I lay with my face to the floor and asked God how this was going to work, speaking to these women, when I was such a wreck inside. I heard, in my heart:
“The fellowship of the broken-hearted.”
Yes. Of course. Each one of these women, because they shepherd others, they lead, they love, and they lay down their lives … every single one of them lives with a broken heart. To care is to cry. To break.
My friend Christine always says, “Breakthrough comes through a broken heart.”
Certainly much of my own sorrow probably comes from selfishness, but in this particular situation I can honestly say it came from caring. Jesus was a man acquainted with sorrows, and it only makes sense that as we come to know Him more, as we walk His way, we will care more. We will ache more. We will hurt more. There will be victories. There will be hallelujahs. There will be mountain tops and glorious days. But if Jesus wept over Jerusalem, won’t we weep over our nation? If Jesus wept when Lazarus died, knowing He would raise Him, won’t we weep over the sick and disease-ridden, the ones who die too soon, the victims of violence, both born and unborn?
Maybe tears aren’t a symptom something’s wrong.
Maybe they mean something’s right because we care about what’s wrong.
I came back downstairs, did the next thing. Made dinner. While we washed dishes after, Shane & Shane came on Spotify and I heard Job’s words:
Though You slay me, yet I will praise You
Though You take from me, I will bless Your name
Though you ruin me, still I will worship
… Jeff gently pulled me into his arms–he’s part of the Fellowship too. Each word brought out the broken places and the tears flowed freely, safely, onto his shoulder. At the end of the song, I wiped my mascara-smeared eyes on his black t-shirt and SMILED. The true, genuine, hope-filled smile of knowing my Redeemer lives. And just then, another song came on, and as only Providence would have it, Housefires sang out a scripture equally true:
All Your promises are yes and amen!
Yes! Even in the broken-heartedness, His promises are ALWAYS yes and amen. This is not the end.
I love the prayer from Every Moment Holy, A Liturgy For Those Who Weep Without Knowing Why. It ends simply: “Use our tears to baptize what You love.” Amen.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
-Psalm 34:18
{Keep fighting, praying, caring. Have a great week dear friends. Thanks for reading.}