It seems to me one of the most unattractive qualities in a person is a hardened heart. Cynical. Cold. Harsh. I can come across as possessing a number of these attributes. But for those who know me well, or the most deeply, they know it is all a facade. (ok, sarcastic humor is just...me.) If I actually went about life as exposed and in touch with everyone's emotions as I could be, I'd be in a perpetual crying jag. That is so attractive. Not always helpful. Or, necessary.
Instead, I layer on protective armor. Silence. Rants and anger at those with whom I feel the most secure. Eye rolls. Avoidance, can be useful as well. Plugging my ears and singing 'La, la, la' can be helpful. So can closing my eyes and focusing only on my family. "If the three around me are ok, everyone must be ok."
The trick becomes, in how to protect the heart with out hardening it too much. Reality is, a heart needs the bumps and bruises in order to remain soft. I must hear the stories people have to tell and feel their life, in order to more fully experience mine. And beyond me, to more fully experience God.
On this All Saints Sunday, I can across one too many heart softening blows. None of directly impacts my life or my heart...except God's heart is keeping beat with all of ours. As I went to bed last night, I felt battle weary.
At church today we learned a neighbor across the street had died. We had noticed action, but had never put much of the story together. We remember him as a helpful, cheerful and kind man, with fun stories to share. We feel--guilty? sad? careless?-that we weren't more in tune with the activity we saw.
Again at church, I learned of suicide of a young man whose life is connected to our congregation.
I have had a woman from our congregation on my mind for weeks...ever since I saw her beaming face at Target. She was a month away from giving birth to her first child. I was sure I was thinking about her so that our mom's group could bring her a meal and welcome her into our network. I learned today she lost the baby and her ability to have any future children to a horribly rare pregnancy risk. This hit too close to home. Plus, my mothering heart aches for her and what is a particularly gut wrenching type of grief.
And then, amidst the glorious fall colors of a high school cross country running race (is there anything so inspiring as young athletes and the spirit of the spectators?) one of my favorite aunt's by marriage confided that her only sibling/sister has pancreatic cancer. There is no armor strong enough to stop the tears when that diagnosis is proclaimed. So I didn't. Neither did my aunt. We let a few tears fall and learned that our hearts beat together.
From my own experience I know the comfort in finding people who will acknowledge the horror of this cancer. I remember the blank stares or pep talks of how "all will be ok." I remember the lonely feeling that came from knowing time with a loved just became increasing precious...and short. I gave thanks for the soft hearts that cried with me, allowed me to, and walked into the darkness with me.
While I don't find it interesting or attractive, I understand how hearts are hardened. I see the appeal. It just isn't for me.
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