I’ve always known that my heart had the capacity to bleed, not as a testament of its own brokenness but in response to that of another. However, I’ve never known that I could get so used to that brokenness that I could become so indifferent.
She called me this morning and I could hear the pain her cynicism masked but as it had become the norm the past couple of months, my irritation rose up to match it. We spoke for a while & I really wasn’t listening much. We could be speaking about anything and everything & her bitterness towards life & people would be so poignant with every word she uttered.
To be honest, I’d grown to dread our conversations. I was tired of walking away feeling so drained. At times I’d pray for her and make sure she knew I was there for her but those days were fast thinning out.
This morning was one of the times where I responded to her with the occasional grunt to feign interest & well I couldn’t be so blatantly rude as to completely keep quiet.
The sharp cry was what brought me back & ripped my heart to shreds. She had actually let out a piercing scream through the receiver as though the sound could purge her of the pain. The sobs that came thereafter tore down any residues of indifference that were stubborn enough to withstand the scream.
Sometimes it’s easier to be cynical, angry & bitter and have that be the face we show the world than to just admit that we’re hurting profusely.
The saddest reality though is that sometimes it’s easier to see people as cynical, angry & bitter than to acknowledge that they’re STILL hurting, that though we’ve moved on, they’re STILL stuck in that reality. We hear that time heals & put a deadline on their grief. In our minds, we reason that surely they’ve learned to live with this by now. We never think that maybe they might have gotten over yesterday if today gave them room to nurse their wounds. That may be time lost it’s healing touch & though it spread out its arms towards them, it hasn’t been able to put it all together again.
I can’t lie & say that I didn’t know that life was not kind to her but I suppose the first couple of years compassion came easier when it made sense to me that she’d be feeling like this.
It pains me to write these things about myself. To be confronted by my skinny love. How quick am I to forget that a consistent & active love resuscitated my dying heart. That He was unwavering in His devotion when there was nothing lovable about me. He staked Himself to me when that association meant humiliation & the degradation of His name
I wish I could thank her for her tears cause God knows I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve the trust that shares such vulnerability. I’m praying that God will help me be the person who constantly lifts her to the throne of grace. Who believes not just for her healing but also for the sustenance of her health. Whose lips never tire of speaking life. The one who will walk with her until she sees the fulfillment of the Word of God in her life!