Pain is Beauty

I finally realized what this cloud hanging around me for the last few days has been: I am heartbroken.

And not even solely for the things I should be, like the devastating earthquakes (as in plural) in Nepal, the plight of the disabled and homeless people living in third world countries, the AIDS epidemic that still reigns in Africa and leaves millions of children orphaned, or a plethora of other horrendous and rightfully heartbreaking things.

Alas, fret not though. Nothing dramatic has come along to ruin my chances of a bright outlook or change my course in life; all that has broken my heart has already happened.

On Monday, my family put down a beloved family pet that we've had for more than a decade to spare him the suffering towards a recovery that may have never happened. Later that same day, I ended a relationship that meant a great deal to me out of the knowledge that sometimes loving each other just isn't enough.  Most recently, there was my 4th graders' last day of school, and I had to accept the fact that I had been asked not to attend by a mentor with whom I could not mend our relationship.

I assumed, as I've spent my time learning to let go and get back to my foundation, that I would end up with a blank page to begin my reconstruction; I was wrong. What I have is myself in tiny, building block pieces that had to be wrenched from their previous footholds, some even broken apart, and now I have to begin putting everything back together. I cry more easily now because I feel everything with a renewed clarity, and I empathize so greatly with suffering that it takes root in my pain, like a branch of the same plant.

But in these times of malaise and despair, I try to remember things that will outlast the heartbreak:

     My mother always ends our communications with "Love you".
     My grandmother texts me on every holiday usually to tell me the card that she sent should have arrived at my parent's house.
     My friends Skype with me, send letters, call me because they don't want me to text when I'm driving, and offer open invitations to stay with them if ever I'm in town.
     My friends also say things like:
      "Have you heard her sing? When I did, I fell in love."
      "Darling! You are just so beautiful."
      "Your writing is like reading poetry."

When things look bleak and replete with sorrow, it's often hard to appreciate all the things I just mentioned, or even see them at all.  I wouldn't trade this heartbreak away though because without it, the things I just mentioned wouldn't mean as much as they do now that I can see them as the blessings that they are. My goal is to live fully in this heartache, to see it for everything that it is, and use it as a tool to soften my heart rather than callous it.

I was looking for a verse in 2 Timothy from a book study I've been doing with a few friends, but I didn't remember the exact reference, so I perused hoping to stumble upon it. Instead of the verse I was looking for, I found this one: "Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel, for which I am suffering even to the point of being chained like a criminal... If we died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him." -2 Timothy 2:8-9 & 11-12

My suffering is not unique, and I think in acknowledging it, we take away the power that it holds when we keep it to ourselves. After our sufferings in this life, whatever they may be, we will live and reign with him.

I am heartbroken now, but I won't be forever, and I think there's a certain dignity in being able to feel this much, even if it pains me to do so. There's a saying that often comes back to me when things are overwhelming and it's the idea that "Jesus is closer than our breath". It helps me to think that more than just wiping away our tears, Jesus can feel, and has felt, everything we feel and will always be there when we need Him.

So to end, I wanted to add to my mantra from last time: I am here. I am loved.