"For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken.
It is so lovely dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack."
- D.H. Lawrence
When I was younger, perhaps about 13 or 14 years old, I remember a family friend putting her hand to my cheek, looking into my eyes and saying, "One day, you're going to break a lot of hearts." While it may have been something that meant so well, I didn't want to break hearts. I only wanted to love. I didn't understand why I would break hearts. I didn't think it was a good thing to break hearts. But...she was right.
I've gone through boyfriend after boyfriend after....well, I've only had two. Boyfriend number two: he broke up with me. He cried more than I did. And for weeks after, we talked and talked and talked as if nothing really happened, until finally, I said, "talking together, gives false hopes. I'm sorry." I could carve one little notch next to "hearts broken." Boyfriend number one, became semi-boyfriend number three. He was the first notch next to "my broken hearts." However, we could easily call it even after he became semi-boyfriend number three. You see, in a series of conversations consisting of long lists of regrets, his biggest was losing me. Deep down inside, he loved me more than another. And while, I was truly flattered and endeared by his undying love, I just didn't love him the way he needed me to. I simply could not be his significant other. And so, while we dated, we never officially called it being together, and before it got too deep for him, I called it quits. He was notch number two next to "hearts broken."
I know it seems so apathetic of me to talk about how many hearts I've broken, which are probably so many more than these two that I know of, but at the time and really up until yesterday, I was apathetic. I cared just a smidgen, but found myself not caring more than caring. I wasn't getting hurt, my heart wasn't being broken. I was being loved more than I needed or wanted. Yet, yesterday, my apathy turned into empathy.
If you read my blog from yesterday, you know life was rough for me. In fact, it was quite an emotional day. In order for me to really reflect, I took a walk. I hadn't gone for a walk in such a long time. Scratch that, I hadn't gone for a walk during which I had no specific destination, in a long time. I really let my feet move me. I had no plan for a destination, I had no plan for a route. In fact, I felt I could have walked any distance in any direction without caring. I needed to simply put my mind at ease. And so, my feet took over. They took me to a place I never actually went alone before (because the Camilla nuns freaked me out with their horror stories....). The Grotto. As I got there, I thought about how I didn't want to see anyone, because if I did, I would cry instantly. Regardless of who it was. If I continued through the Grotto, I was bound to see people. If I turned around and went back, I was still bound to see people. So, for some strange reason, I sat on the cold stone and let my feet dangle over the stream with Mama Mary standing behind me.
Time seemed to not exist, as I closed my eyes and listened. I heard squirrels frolicking in the leaf piles as the stored up for Winter's Hibernation. I heard the cold and frigid breeze whistle through the trees. But my favorite sound was the steady stream singing. As I listened, I truly began to reflect on how the stream could be love and how I was actually the stream. Confused? Read on.
I know not where the stream begins nor where it ends. All I could see was the present image of the water. I know not where I began (somewhere it God's great creative mind) and I know not where I will end. All I can see is the here and now. But just how water is ripply and unclear, so is my present moment. I asked myself: Who am I now? And so the stream became my love. The stream flowed over and all around rocks and little stones. It seemed to wrap itself around those rocks and stones, going every which why and even out of its way to surround them with itself so they could be soaked. Completely and utterly soaked. But the rocks cannot embrace the water. They just stand there, not allowing themselves to be saturated with the water or the love, and not being able to give back the love. But then there is the soil and the grass and banks surrounding the water. Whenever the water rushes over them, they suck in the love and it's like a hug. They bring the water into their hearts and never let go. They can love the water back.
Like I said, I was the water in the stream. There are some people, many people in my life, who are the rocks and stones. I would go out of my way to surround them with my love, so they could be soaked in my love, but for whatever reason, may it be poverty, may it be unability to love, may it refusal to let love in and out, may it be any other restriction. I can love and love and love and love and yet, from these I will never be loved nearly as much in return. Then there are those in my life who are the soil, grass and riverbanks. They accept my love, they soak it in and they wrap themselves around me in return, loving me more than I could ever love them. As my Daddy reminds me, I will never be able to love him more or longer than he has loved me. He is my greatest river bank. I am the stream, some are rocks and stones, and some very few are riverbanks.
It was this reality and reflection that came from prayer that broke my heart yesterday. There is a reality in knowing that I can love a person so much and really be willing to do anything for that person, while I don't doubt they wouldn't do the same for me, they can't love me. No, not nearly as much, if even any. For whatever reason he or she may have, it is impossible. I realized yesterday that there are people who I once thought were riverbanks but in reality were just rocks and stones hiding beneath the mud or sand of the riverbank. While they once soaked up my love and gave it back, that could only last so long. They can't, for whatever reason, love me as much as I can love them. This reality broke my heart and made me empathetic to all the hearts I've broken. And I cried for those boys and the pain they must have felt as I walked away saying, "I don't love you as much as you want me to." I cried because I understood.
Then I cried for Jesus, who is the ultimate stream. He continuously flows around us trying to love and love and love and love us. Yet, we are rocks and stones. His heart is broken every day by those who do not accept His love or love Him back. And while many do love Him in return, it can't nearly be as much as He loves us. It is impossible for me to love Him more than He loves me.
I cried, combining my tears with the tears of the streams, because now I understood. I understood the pain of a broken heart, and I understood that some, for whatever reason, no matter what, can not love (as much) in return. However, as long as I never stop being the stream (and sometimes a tidal wave) of love, I can accept the rocks and stones and riverbanks in my life. I may not know my beginning or my end but I can never stop loving, regardless of how many times my heart breaks. I can never stop. Because Jesus never stops and He lives through me.
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