Friday, March 24, 2017

Dear heart,

The Word for today:
Luke 12:13-34
Dear heart,
I want you to know that I'm sorry for the things I put you through:
Remember that girl in 7th grade? Remember the day it was snowing and the flakes settled on her eyelashes. You skipped a beat that day. But by the 8th grade you knew she didn't like me anymore. I should have listened to you right away.
Remember in 9th grade, when we began to run? We were something, weren't we? We had fun then, didn't we?
Remember basketball--and the night, just a week before our first game, when the phone rang and our best player, our best friend, was run over as he walked home, his brand new uniform in cellophane in his gym bag. We grew up that night, old friend.
Remember track that spring, when the sun emerged from behind that dark cloud. We fairly flew for a season, just long enough to set the record, and to awake the next morning with a limp wing. How could we know, looking forward, that we'd never fly that high again.
But you weren't broken! You soldiered on. We grew up fast, by leaps and bounds, that summer. We had to, didn't we, 'cause our leaping and bounding days were over. But we didn't let on, and managed to limp all the way to William and Mary. But William and Mary wouldn't do.
Do you remember when we hitch-hiked all the way to Oregon, just you and me at Christmas time. We had nothing but each other back then. Remember when I reached in my pocket and gave all our money away? To this day I don't know why. That was as free as you and I ever got on our own.
We were broke and had to turn back home, but I didn't want them to see me that way, so we washed dishes in Indianapolis for a whole year. That's the year you and I broke up. There were moments of respite and reconciliation, but my star had tarnished and I was no longer worthy of your trust. I watched my own fall from grace as it reflected from your eyes.
You'd told me, back in Oregon, that even together we weren't enough, that our flaws would find the surface and the cracks would be exposed. I should have listened to you right away.
I wonder how Jesus learned so much about the heart without having to put on that crisp new red and white Emmet Belknap Junior High basketball uniform and line up for a ceremonial center jump with only four on the floor.
I wonder if eyelashes and track spikes and missing fighter formations even register with him. They must, because how else could he understand hearts the way he does:
"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also..."
"But," I protested, "my heart is my treasure."
That's when I reached inside and gave you away, too.
You finally made it home.

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