On Ragdolls and Elastic Hearts
“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147: 3
But just before the wounds heal you run back to the same things that caused them. Maybe it’s the lure of the familiar, or maybe it’s to show them you bruise easily. So they can see how much they hurt you? Or so they can try to fix you?
But you were already fixed.
Every tear, He wiped away. Every time they tried to tear your heart to shreds, He came through. Do you remember those nights that you cried so much you wondered if you would run out of tears? Do you remember when you thought that maybe, just maybe, if you stayed long enough in bed the world would go on and leave you behind so you could rest in peace? Do you remember when you would cry out asking who you really were and why your life was like a soap opera written by a sadist child? Do you remember when you thought that maybe Cain’s mark was on you too, so no one could love you or stay with you? Do you remember your whole body shook with the pain and all you wanted was for someone to hold you still?
He heard you.
He heard you, on those nights you thought that you were better off dead than alive. He held you when you shook with pain and tears and calmed your fears. He patted your hair and cupped your face in His hands, then He wiped your tears. On the night when loneliness was eating you from the inside, He was there. His arms were wide open embracing you. And you fit right into the nook, His nook.
But you forgot.
You wanted something “tangible” you said. You forgot His love was the most tangible thing you ever knew. Everything else was so ephemeral. But you chose that over love that never left. So you took your heart back from Him and gave it to the one who broke it before. Your heart is such a gift but on whose altar are you offering it?
He did it again.
Not Him, the other one you gave your heart to. You thought that your heart could stretch without limit, elastic heart. Your precious little gift you so willingly threw at his feet. You didn’t know how to handle it, neither did he. So he let it drop. Smithereens and fragments so little that they hurt to pick up. You are his rag doll now. And you’re too ashamed to come back to your fixer.
But He was always here.
The Love was always here. On the sidelines where you left Him when you went off. He’s here now, arms wide open. Waiting for you. He’s whispering:
“Let Light In, Let Me In”
Excerpts from my book, out Easter 2017