“Maybe-I don’t know, somehow?-maybe our hearts are made to be broken. Broken open. Broken free. Maybe the deepest wounds birth deepest wisdom.”
I feel closer to God up here. In the clouds. Helpless if this flight takes route all the way to the ground. My body free-falling, my life rising up. I feel grace up here.
It’s funny how we can spend a lifetime convincing ourselves that we’re all-powerful, all-knowing, in control of everything.
For once, I’m not fighting to be in control.
Our wounds break open and our hearts leak throughout the earth and we make a promise to ourselves that we will never feel this pain again. We live so carefully that nothing ever touches us. We strive to be infinite. It’s safe. It’s somewhat comforting. It’s a joy-shattering life.
Our wounds bind us together like a brotherhood of the broken. We all feel it. We all fear something.
I see a mother cradling her toddler fast asleep in her lap. I see her love for him flowing through her fingertips as she smoothes his hair back. Her eyes closed. Her heart busted open for her son.
I see grace pouring through the clouded window onto her skin. Grace for the parenting mistakes to come. Grace for the heartbreak and tiredness and brokenness. I tear up.
I ache for my mom to be able to hold me one last time.
I wish I could live right here, next to this moment forever.
Isn’t this the way God cradles us? Isn’t this how he holds us close, whispers truth into our ears, grazes our hair with his fingertips?
Mother-less/ father-less/ hopeless, hearts ripping at the seams or not, we are chosen. We are cradled, held close despite anything we’ve ever done or have yet to do.
I feel the pain leaking out up here amidst this grace-filled, hope-filled moment and I am stitched up a little tighter. That baby is me. It’s you. We are as held just as he is in this moment. We need only believe it.