Did you know that the human heart can only hold so much suffering? I’m no doctor, and I can’t prove this, but I believe one could choose to die of a broken heart. Choose to stop beating with the tempo of grief. Choose to stop pulsating the radiating pain.
Still, as much as I firmly believe in the power of grief, I believe even more strongly in the power of life. The power of pulsating, throbbing, yearning desire. The power of God.
You see, one can choose to die of a broken heart or one can choose to be reborn out of the shattered pain. Choose to live again. Choose to beat in tempo with the ebb and flow of the stream of days.
Yet, when this type of transformation is made, it is not our heart that beats again, but rather HIS. You see, when the heart has felt so much grief, then it can’t just resurrect itself again. It’s lost its rhythm. It’s lost its timing. It’s forgotten the pulse of life, of hope, of joy.
I think that is when the Creator of the Universe leans down, wraps His arms around His child, and breathes once again into his mouth. Returns the air that was so cruelly sucked out. I believe He presses down on the panting heart and pulses with it until it can once again operate on its own. All the while, He holds and rocks. Rocks and holds. Whispers words of Love. Sings over His dying child until the child remembers his own song. The words of joy that lilt and skip over the mundane moments.
We rock our broken bodies to the words of Zephaniah 3:17:
“The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.”
When there are no more tears, He quiets the heart that can weep no more. I can’t build a theology on this truth, but I know it to be so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this incapable of grieving. After spending weeks crying over my miscarried baby, I don’t have strength for this second affront. Still, He holds me. He breathes into my mouth and pulses for my week heart. I am in no danger of giving up. Why? He’s singing joy and life over me.
As my Grandpa Bill would say, “I’m going to be fine.”
To read about his passing on April 26, click HERE.
Blessings, Friends. Thank you for crying with me.