I was going through some old documents the other day and found a bit of writing I did about love. I think I meant to post it on my old blog back in the day, but I never got around to it. Today it resonates with some of my current circumstances, so I wrote a little more; and now I'm posting it here. These are the thoughts of a girl who finds herself heartbroken over the pain she sees in a small child who she loves. (The girl being me and the small child being my favorite little boy at the children's home.) I'm trying to encourage myself to not be afraid of the pain I'm experiencing. Instead of giving in to fear and withdrawing, I want to continue giving my heart fully to the people around me who need love, especially the children.
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Have you ever wondered if the pain is worth it? Loving someone, putting yourself out there, being open, tying your heart to another human being... it is all supposed to be so freeing and sweet and fluffy. At least we assume that.
The truth is that human love is indeed beautiful. But it wrecks us too. As we learn to love others, we open ourselves up to the pain of disappointment, suffering, betrayal, loss and the scars they leave behind. These scars are constant reminders of life lived and lost, and some of the wounds cause pain long after the emotional skin closes. Phantom limbs haunt us, tingling and crying out in agony. Infections taint the once-strong fortress of our bodies. We hurt long after the hurt is past.
They say time is the great healer. They say that.. But the way I see it, time is not enough.
I experience enough pain on my own, I think. Do I really need to take on someone else's pain too? My scars from past relationships (platonic or otherwise) terrorize me. I cover them, ashamed of their ugliness and wanting to fit the mold of beauty. But no matter how I try to hide them, they are there. I can't hide or forget the past, so I do everything in my power to prevent further injury. I try to not care too deeply. Often I take myself out of the game altogether, placing my heart and emotions far out of reach from any careless human hands. Any hands.
Unexpectedly, against my carefully laid defenses, I find feelings warming my heart toward other people. Do I give in? Do I open myself up to the potential for more heartache, or do I keep the doors firmly closed? Loving others does bring joy; but always at some point the pain returns and I wonder, is it worth it?
The pain is NOT momentary. It lasts, lingers, lengthens my days. But I've seen the fruit of that pain with my own eyes, touched it with my own hands. I have tasted its sweetness. The truth that lies beneath the pain of identifying with another person's sorrow is greater, and the knowledge of love--the attribute at the core of God's very being--is made only that much more valuable by my experience with suffering. I would choose agony over apathy at every turn. Every. Single. One. It is worth it, even on my worst day, because love is of God. It is what He has given to me, and it must be exercised.
I'm not waiting for time to heal me. Now I know that even time cannot remove the scars I wear. I count those scars a gift, a reminder of His great and unimaginable grace, that He loves even me, with my scarlet letters tattooed upon my skin. He doesn't erase those marks. I do not pretend to know exactly why, and perhaps I will never know. But I do know that those scars make me love--Him, friends, children, lovers, criminals, enemies, the unlovable, the untouchable--more. And if I can get past my fear of vulnerability, my experiences with suffering only richen and deepen my appreciation for the opportunity to love someone in each moment that passes me by today. This one, and this one, and this one. These moments I'm living are precious. Because of pain.
---
Have you ever wondered if the pain is worth it? Loving someone, putting yourself out there, being open, tying your heart to another human being... it is all supposed to be so freeing and sweet and fluffy. At least we assume that.
The truth is that human love is indeed beautiful. But it wrecks us too. As we learn to love others, we open ourselves up to the pain of disappointment, suffering, betrayal, loss and the scars they leave behind. These scars are constant reminders of life lived and lost, and some of the wounds cause pain long after the emotional skin closes. Phantom limbs haunt us, tingling and crying out in agony. Infections taint the once-strong fortress of our bodies. We hurt long after the hurt is past.
They say time is the great healer. They say that.. But the way I see it, time is not enough.
I experience enough pain on my own, I think. Do I really need to take on someone else's pain too? My scars from past relationships (platonic or otherwise) terrorize me. I cover them, ashamed of their ugliness and wanting to fit the mold of beauty. But no matter how I try to hide them, they are there. I can't hide or forget the past, so I do everything in my power to prevent further injury. I try to not care too deeply. Often I take myself out of the game altogether, placing my heart and emotions far out of reach from any careless human hands. Any hands.
Unexpectedly, against my carefully laid defenses, I find feelings warming my heart toward other people. Do I give in? Do I open myself up to the potential for more heartache, or do I keep the doors firmly closed? Loving others does bring joy; but always at some point the pain returns and I wonder, is it worth it?
The pain is NOT momentary. It lasts, lingers, lengthens my days. But I've seen the fruit of that pain with my own eyes, touched it with my own hands. I have tasted its sweetness. The truth that lies beneath the pain of identifying with another person's sorrow is greater, and the knowledge of love--the attribute at the core of God's very being--is made only that much more valuable by my experience with suffering. I would choose agony over apathy at every turn. Every. Single. One. It is worth it, even on my worst day, because love is of God. It is what He has given to me, and it must be exercised.
I'm not waiting for time to heal me. Now I know that even time cannot remove the scars I wear. I count those scars a gift, a reminder of His great and unimaginable grace, that He loves even me, with my scarlet letters tattooed upon my skin. He doesn't erase those marks. I do not pretend to know exactly why, and perhaps I will never know. But I do know that those scars make me love--Him, friends, children, lovers, criminals, enemies, the unlovable, the untouchable--more. And if I can get past my fear of vulnerability, my experiences with suffering only richen and deepen my appreciation for the opportunity to love someone in each moment that passes me by today. This one, and this one, and this one. These moments I'm living are precious. Because of pain.
