“Tell me that someday you’ll be returning, and maybe…maybe I’ll believe.”~Mindy Smith
I’m talking to you.
I’m looking right at you.
I come to you from a place of “I get it.”
I know exactly what it is to love someone when it feels impossible to love. A person who seems to have lost their very life along the journey. Who has torn their world, and subsequently yours, to pieces.
I wish I could wipe away your hot, angry tears, you a few steps behind me on this all too beaten path. I’m so sorry for the rubble you are stumbling through right now. It is jagged and harsh. There is nowhere in sight to get your footing.
Loving in this wasteland caused by someone bent on destruction, is it even something you can do? Is it something you want to do?
You may not right now, friend. But you will.
Because at the core of all that anger is sadness and grief over something you think is lost. It’s not lost. It’s under all of that rubble. That rubble feels like too much work right now, I get it. Breathing is hard right now. You are spent. Can you do something for me, though?
Can you hold on a little longer?
If you can’t stand, sit. Sit in your grief and let yourself feel it. It’s okay. It won’t kill you like it threatens to. Give it the proper audience and it’ll settle down. You will feel a little stronger. You will find yourself willing to search. One brick moved. Another. Another. You have a place to stand again. You look down and you see that heart, the one you thought dead and gone- it’s still beating. Its rhythm pulsates through the chaos. A beat you forgot to remember. God breathed the life into what’s under there. He loves that life.
So do you.
I am not going to lie to you and say it gets easy. No: what it gets is manageable. It will change you. It breaks your heart in a way that allows for a lot more grace and a whole lot more God. Because we can’t love the impossible without Him.
And He needs you to, friend. He needs us all to.