My Heart Breaks, Too

 It was 5:30 am on a Friday morning. I'd closed my eyes to sleep just a few short hours earlier, at 1 am, after a long day of sorting and organizing and rearranging. I checked my messages and sent a quick one to my husband. I deflected a work message that made my blood pressure rise. I hated it when I was on holiday and people asked inane questions but my husband had taught me to deal with things right away so I wouldn't have to linger on thinking about it later, so I did. 

I should have dropped off to sleep again, after all there was a lovely soft morning breeze that just barely lifted the lace curtain and I had an eye mask to block out the light. But then I started to think. That was always my undoing. 

And I started to cry. 

God, why does it hurt to love someone so much?

The day before, I'd done a 30 minute video call with my husband who was recovering from nasal surgery. Not wanting to stress me out, he had gone and done it while I was away, on annual leave, out of the country. Now he was feeling pretty miserable as he could not breathe through his nose, his mouth was dry, and he was all alone. He had been quite chipper the first time we'd talked, the day after his surgery, but as with any illness or major event, the 2nd day is always worse and I could hear it in his voice. He was not so energetic and was talking less and after 30 minutes he was ready to say goodbye. We hung up and I cried. 

I started to panic, thinking he was dehydrated and worried that, because he was alone, he would not recognize the signs of dehydration and get seriously ill or even go unconscious and nobody would even know. I worried because I was not there to check on him in the night, make soup for him during the day, put a cold washcloth on his head to cool him down, and keep him drinking water. I worried because I could not lie next to him and check that he was still breathing. Being apart from him, across oceans and time zones, made it that much harder and the worry was much greater than if I had been with him. I always told him, I'm not good with medical stuff, but I was finding out that I was even worse with distance. I knew he was a careful person, I knew he had a strong body that would recover quickly because of his many years of being an athlete, I knew God would take care of him, but I still worried. 

After talking to my best friend who was a nurse and also married, I felt better. She reminded me that while we as women are nurturers, who care deeply about our husbands and want to take care of them, men are independent and want to take care of us but they don't know how to be taken care of. It helped me understand why my brave and stubborn husband had driven himself home from the hospital after a surgery with general anesthesia, filled a prescription, and changed his bandages without help from anyone. Then I started to cry again. I really really wanted to be with him. 

As I cried, the tears started to come from a different place than the usual one. I noticed my body almost shaking and I felt the fear and pain emerge. Two days earlier, another best friend had listened to me share how I had kept myself a bit emotionally distant from my husband since our marriage, somewhat aloof, but it was a protective mechanism. I could not allow myself to really love him, to open up my heart and be vulnerable, because then God would take him away just like He had taken away all the other precious people in my life and I could not handle one more loss. I had reached my breaking point before I met my husband so though I fell in love and I loved him rationally, I had stopped myself from opening up my heart completely. I could not because the prospect of pain was too much. 

Yet I knew that had to change. My mother had reminded me that it was better to love someone completely, even with the risk of loss, than to keep a closed heart. So I had decided to try loving him more. Then he went and did the nasal surgery and I found myself in a very vulnerable place, being so far away from him and unable to care for him. I was so scared that something serious would happen to him, because I tend to overthink far too much and always imagine the worst, and in my moment of vulnerability, the pain was intensifying. The fear collided with pain and I cried out to God to help me. 

Eventually I calmed down. I worried again that evening a bit but was able to sleep. Until I woke up and started thinking about everything and feeling sad again. Now I was not as worried. My husband had reassured me that he was drinking and I knew that each day that passed, he would get better. We had exchanged fun text messages before I'd gone to sleep and I was learning to encourage and build him up. I had not shown him how seriously it had all affected me; he hadn't seen the current of tears. Now the tears came, though, because I felt sad that he had to be all alone during his time of pain. And I cried out to God again.

Why does it hurt so much to love?

The answer came immediately. This is how I feel. Every day. Remember how Jesus died of a broken heart on the cross? It was not the nails whose pain He felt; it was the pain of billions of people who rejected His love and rejected His care for them. We are love. We don't love; we are love. Let that sink in for a moment. What you feel; We are. I don't tell you how I feel because I am God; I can handle the pain. But when Jesus died; His physical heart could not handle the pain. That was how great it was. The pain of love. 

You ask me almost every day, how can I watch these horrible things happen to innocent people, especially children, and not do anything? You don't understand. My heart breaks when I see those atrocious acts. It breaks because I loved the perpetrators; they are my children. They were born out of My heart. Don't listen to anyone who says that people are born out of accident; each person's first breath is placed there by Me. I love and care for each person and then, they turn away from Me. They reject me and they try to do things on their own and they don't care about Me anymore. My heart breaks because My love, which is What I am, cannot penetrate their stubborn cold hearts. 

I hurt when I see innocent ones in pain. I feel their pain just as deeply because I created them and they are part of Me. I know it is very difficult for you because you want Me to end their pain, especially the pain of the children. I cannot explain everything to you now about how sin and the end of the world works, because there are many things happening in the unseen world that you would not understand completely. It does seem like you are simply a puppet on the stage, strings being pulled, no choice about whether to live in this sinful world. But My child, you were born out of My heart. I would never, never do anything to hurt you. I use all My power to protect you and care for you. The pain you feel when you see your loved ones hurting? I feel all that pain and so much more when I look at you. Because I know you are hurting. I feel it in My heart. I love you far deeper than any human can love another and if you experience pain when your loved one is hurting, so do I when you are hurting. 

It seems strange, doesn't it? To imagine Me in pain. I don't want you to focus on that, though. I want you to focus on just one thing--My love for you. This love is what will carry you through all the pain in life. My love is more than an expression or feeling; it is Me. I will carry you through the difficulties; I will carry you through the sorrows. I cannot protect you from every pain in life but I can love you with the fiercest love that exists. I will take the pain on Myself and I will worry about everything. I will be the barrier between you and sin's worst pains. I took that responsibility when I created you and I will always be true to it. 

All my life I have been struggling to understand Who God really is and to reconcile what I see with what I read and know. With what I want to feel in my heart. God has no choice about being vulnerable or not; He cannot close His heart to love because His heart is love. Now that I understand a little more, my heart is calm and still. As much as I love my husband, God loves me and him even more. So I can rest in that knowledge because I know He will take care of both of us. 

I led Maria along with My ropes of kindness and love. I lifted the yoke from her neck, and I myself stooped to feed her. ~Hosea 11:4

Take 2, or maybe Take 59. It doesn't matter in the end, anyhow.

Today is not a good day. But then again, I cannot remember the last time I had a genuinely good day. 

Dear God, today is not a good day. I whisper it under my breath, thankful for the mask that muffles my voice so nobody hears me mumbling to myself in the middle of Ross. 

I've been working my way down the aisles, women's shoes to handbags to sheets to frying pans  and now I am staring at a rack of dresses. I feel a bit panicky but hope it will pass. I take 2 bras off the rack and head to the fitting room. Thankfully one fits.

Later, I realize I haven't looked for sweatpants. I hunt through the small selection, discouraged that I am now an XL, and finally find one that looks decent. In the fitting room I try it on. I peer into the mirror and see the tears starting. I don't have a tissue so I wipe my nose on the back of my arm and my eyes with a corner of my soft gray-blue pilling blouse. I sit down and whisper again, I'm not doing good today. 

After a few minutes, I manage to collect myself. I meet my mother in the clearance section and we both ponder our potential purchases. She agonizes over a soft pink day bag for work. I look at 5 boxes of discount headphones, the black sweatpants that don't fit perfectly but will do, and a snappy pair of cute beige heels. I add it up in my head. My monthly salary now worth $315 flashes like neon lights in my mind. I have the cash but spending it on things I do not need, like a pair of heels when I have a closet full back in Lebanon, heels I haven't worn for a year since the pandemic began, seems frivolous. Never mind they are comfortable and would look perfect with the flattering black dress my mom found for free in the mailroom. Or that they would match every outfit I currently own. I look at the 5 boxes of headphones. My head hurts just trying to think about which ones to choose. I hate having to buy for other people, namely a very picky husband and SIL. 

After standing frozen in the aisle for more than 5 minutes, I grab the fitted sheet set and the bra. I leave the cart full of carefully chosen purchases behind. Today, I cannot deal with them. I cannot deal with life.

I go home and unfriend most of the people on my Facebook page. I choose 5 books from a bookshelf packed with books that I spent hard earned money on but are now worth pennies on the dollar, and I tell my mother she can take what she likes. I will donate the rest of the 100+ books. I battle with myself to reach the mental state I need to just throw everything out. To forget my past self. After all, who cares about that person from before? Nobody, so why should I? I have to continually reinvent myself each time I move and I am sure I will be cursed to keep moving several times more, so now is as good a time as any to forget the Maria before. I do not need to bring her into my new life. 

Tomorrow I will start on the cupboard. Maybe, if I can manage it, I will be able to throw everything out. There can be no regrets. Only resentment. And anger. For the rest of my life. Because this life is not a good life.

Be thankful, they say.

Be thankful, they say. 

When you sit in line for 1.5 hours waiting to get 1/8 a tank of gas and finally reach the front of the line, only to be told they have run out of gas for the day and to come back tomorrow. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When you go to the grocery store and the prices have tripled in a week. When nuts, soymilk, whole grain products, and most fruit are out of your budget now.

Be thankful, they say. 

When everything is sold on the black market at 12x the original price from shoes to soap to shampoo. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When hospitals stop accepting your health insurance and you have to drive to multiple places to find one that still does. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When a simple burger with fries costs $25. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When a car repair takes your month's salary. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When sanitary pads cost $11 for a package of 16. 

Be thankful, they say. 

When you have been informed that the budget does not allow for the a/c that was promised more than a year ago, until after the hot season is over. And your apartment only has 2 fans.

Be thankful, they say.

When friends share their worries with you about medical bills, when you see the anxiety on people's faces, when gun fights at gas stations feature prominently in the Telegram group you follow, when mothers are afraid they will not be able to find powdered milk for their babies, when old people beg at street corners for a bit of money and young men dig through garbage dumpsters looking for a bit of food to feed their families. 

Be thankful, they say. 

Suppose you see a brother or sister who has no food or clothing, and you say, “Good-bye and have a good day; stay warm and eat well”—but then you don’t give that person any food or clothing. What good does that do? ~James 2:15, 16

Just as faith without acts is a dead faith, so too is telling someone to be thankful when they are faced with extraordinary difficulties. Not only are we struggling with the pandemic everyone else is struggling with, we are facing an economic crisis that is "among the world’s three worst since the mid-1800s" according to the World Bank and The New York Times. How can you look someone in the eye, who does not know if tomorrow their salary will cover their essentials because the prices are skyrocketing out of control, and tell them Be thankful? How can you say, Others have life more difficult than you, when this is possibly the hardest that person is experiencing right now? 

What do we need? Understanding and empathy, above all. Then let's work together as best we know how to help each other. 

*Note, Prices have been calculated based on a median average salary and official syndicate rate.