Sunday, March 17, 2013

Heartbreak vs. Rage

The enormity of the hurt surpasses even my extraordinary expository skills.

That's really all I can say about what it feels like when someone who was part of your life for ten years suddenly isn't.

There are no easy answers to any of the questions.  In reality, there are likely no answers at all.  Someone who was there, now is not.

It starts with a dull ache at the back of the throat.  From there, it moves into one of two directions:  heartbreak or rage.

Rage is comfortable.  It allows me to put it outside of myself as I thirstily drink in a desire for vengeance.

Rage disgusts me as thoughts of revenge come to mind, and I shudder to consider the extent of the hatefulness I carry within me.

Heartbreak is terrifying.  It curls my body around the source of the wound in an effort to stop the flood of pain before it drowns me.

Heartbreak is risky, because it means relinquishing my control over the situation and resting in the moment.  Heartbreak means allowing myself to be carried through the pain while making no effort to steer the journey into darker places.

Rage means the illusion of holding onto my sense of self, while in reality sacrificing everything I love about who I am in the name of protecting of the same.

Heartbreak means trusting that when the ocean of hurt recedes, my essential self, everything I love about who I am, will be intact and potentially stronger.

Rage means trusting in my own undeniably brilliant logic to protect the mystical.

Heartbreak means trusting in Jesus to hold the sacred tenderly.

Rage means finding a cure, quick and easy.

Heartbreak means engaging the present in all of its fullness for the promise of future healing, whether anything is cured or not.

Rage means binding a wound with cloth and piling on spices to mask the stench of death.

Heartbreak means believing in the power of resurrection.

I remember when Tim died I had asked Jesus to resurrect him.

I had to drastically alter my notion of resurrection.  I had to accept that Jesus already had.  I had to accept that, someday, I too would be resurrected from the death I was experiencing.


I open my hands and let go.

I let go of my need for control.

I let go of my need to understand.

I let go of my vengeful thoughts.

I open my hands and ask Jesus to fill them with new things.

I open my hands to receive peace.

I open my hands to receive acceptance.

I open my hands to receive grace.

I open my hands to receive compassion.

I open my hands to receive new eyes to perceive things more clearly.

I open my hands to receive new ears to hear Jesus's tender words of comfort.

I open my hands to receive a new mind focused on the things of God.

I open my hands to receive a new heart, soft and tender.

I open my hands to receive all of the ways Jesus will love, comfort, and sustain me now, in this moment.


Pain gushes out of me and surrounds me like an ocean.  I cling to the only one standing beside me and remember there was a time when blood and water poured from his side when his heart broke as well.

I open my hands, palms turned up.  I see my scars.

Jesus reaches out and clasps my hands.  I see his scars and I know that resurrection is coming.

I choose heartbreak and hope.

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