The Heart

This was written almost three years ago, but the last week my mind has been drawn back to it again and again. Perhaps there is someone out there who needs it.

The heart was cold, dry, and musty.
It was empty and dehydrated from lack of nourishment.
There was no dripping joy of gladness overflowing,
no welling up of tender love and care.
It was empty, shriveling up, and becoming hard and brittle.

Life had taken a toll on the heart and deserved all the blame.
Things were hard, ruthless, unfair, and overwhelming.
All the “Why’s” “How’s” and “I can’t handle anymore.”
kept crowding in and taking up more space,
leaving no room for a positive thought.

Self-pity slowly dripped acid into the open wounds.
“Life is just about giving and never receiving,
giving of time, talents, money, health, and even family.”
“There is never a moment of peace,” it whispered,
“You deserve so much more than you are getting.”
And the cold, dark, and broken heart believed.

Faith wavered when prayers went unanswered.
Doubt crept in and worry filled all the corners.
Life seemed to have more questions then answers
and the heart was starting to believe the lies.

The more time passed, the more the heart hardened.
Life lost its sunshine and everything
was covered with the cloud cover of hurt.
Anger and weariness took over.

The heart looked longingly at others,
wishing for what they had, for the song they sang.
It wondered how to find this again,
and was there something missing?
The head knew all the correct answers,
but the heart was not feeling them.

Over time one small note after another
made its way across the path of the heart.
“I am faithful, I will not fail you.
Lean on Me, trust in Me.
I am a refuge for the weary.
I am a shelter from the storm.
I am comfort, I am protection.”

But is it true? Do I dare believe?
Can I trust Him again?

“I am close to the brokenhearted.
I hear your cries.
You are precious to me.
You are mine and I love you.”

And with the touch of His finger,
a tiny sliver of hope was born.

Slowly, slowly over time the heart began to warm
as more notes, more words, made their way around.
Deep in its depths where it was cracked and broken,
a little light began to shine in and break up the darkness.
The Mender poured in healing oil, warm and smooth.
He worked the rough edges, patching the cracks,
smoothing the broken pieces and closing the gaping holes.
A heart badly broken is not mended in one day,
but patiently He worked, never giving up
and ever so slowly, healing began.

There were still days when the heart
wanted to whither and shrink,
to pull back and believe the old lies.
But the Mender had a gentle touch
and while He worked He quietly whispered
words of encouragement, of love, truth,
and peace into the once torn and ragged heart.
Each stitch was reshaping and reviving
a broken heart to be made new.
Each patch was bringing new strength and vigor
to a once worn and struggling soul,
life was returning to the heart.

While the heart may not be as beautiful as it once was,
each mended piece and scar tell a story,
each patched and sewn corner weave a tale.
The heart is now filled with gladness and singing,
light squeezes through the threads,
spilling out to tell the world of the Mender’s touch.

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