The thing I hate most about grief is that it makes me selfish. I turn inward. I cradle my pain and hold it close, even though I detest it.
Pain reveals the worst parts of me. My fear. My jealousy. My anger. My bitterness.
People are quick to offer grace to me. They tell me that it’s “understandable”, but I hate that those parts of me exist. People have praised me for my honesty, but there are times where I desperately wish I had a poker face. My heart is on my sleeve because that’s where it’s been skewered— squirming helplessly out in the open, unable to hide. For better or for worse.
Sure, my compassion shows. My love. My joy. But that same heart is also incapable of hiding its anger, its hurt, its fear. The naked truth is that I end up hurting and disappointing people. And I resent myself all the more.
Pain reveals the darkest parts of me and forces me to confront it. Will I be consumed by my own darkness, or grapple with it?
My Creator is the only one who knows how to buff out those flaws and mend the broken pieces. He is the only one who knows what the perfect version of me is supposed to be. He is the only one who can restore me, because he carries the reference picture for my fully redeemed heart.
I’ve had trouble trusting and believing. Believe me, I’ve cried the same questions as the rest of humanity: “God, are you there? Do you love me like you claim to? How can you be Good and allow this to happen?”
God did not break the world. We did. God created perfection and we wanted more.
The only way God could give us the joy of experiencing Love is by giving us a dangerous gift: free will. God gave us His heart, let us hold it in our hands, and we chose to shatter it. And in His pain, God revealed His true nature: Mercy.
Since the very first day humans broke God’s heart, He has been busy making repairs-- making things right. Unlike me, He did not withdraw or lash out in His pain. He continued to pursue. He continued to love. He continued to forgive.
Blaming God for my suffering and questioning His love would be like a child shattering a precious vase and angrily blaming his parents for the fact that his fingers got sliced on the broken shards. But my Father is there. He rushes back in every time my anger subsides, and I finally let Him in close enough to bandage my wounds.
I am loved. And because I am loved, I am being transformed. This naked, broken heart will be mended. This pain is a process that has revealed my cracks and now I can let God get to work repairing them.
And someday, when this broken world slices me open again, I hope that a new truth is revealed: I am whole. I am restored. There is no more darkness in me left to reveal because God has replaced my heart with His own. And that heart only bleeds love and mercy.
