Open hands, wounded heart

The hardest thing is to open my hands to Jesus.

I know that I must come with empty hands to get anything from Him.  He only gives good things to me.  But to have empty hands, I have to let go of things I don't want to.

To put my heart out there to Jesus knowing that my heart is basically held together with Scotch tape in places, others places in slivers, still other places crumbling to dust.  How can I give Jesus my heart when it is so broken?  How do I know that He won't break it even more?

I guess because His heart looks like this:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

A present help in times of trouble

     Today was very ordinary.  I went to the gym to do one of my favorite things: take a group dance class from one of my favorite instructors, and talk to my friends at the gym who are also regulars.  Though I don't know them as well, they are dear to me and I look forward to the mutual encouragement we share about our fitness goals.

     Right between the two classes, one of my friends got a text that a high school friend of hers had been shot yesterday and had died.  Of course this was terribly shocking news and my friend burst into tears right there in the group X room.  Another friend and I shuffled her out into the hallway and sat with her as she cried a bit and tried to process this terrible shock.  We listened as she talked about her friend, the kind of person she was, and how felt guilty for not getting together with her more.

     As a person uncomfortable with conflict or distressing situations, this would have been really hard for me to do a few years ago.  But now, as I come to know Jesus more, I saw it in a different way.  I feel it is a privilege to be witness to another's suffering.  I used to be very into things being the "right way", things going just as planned, everything being perfect, how people should act was almost scripted in my expectations.  I got awfully upset if people veered away from how I thought they should act.  I lived in almost constant disappointment.

     But life isn't like that, is it?  We aren't perfect.  Situations are messy.  People are messy.  Terrible things happen.  Plans get ruined.  Life is interrupted.  It's all a part of the beautiful mess that is humanity.

     And into such a mess stepped Jesus, the Perfect One.

     Talk about broken dreams and ruined plans!  Jesus, the King, left His heavenly court where everything was perfect.  He willingly plunged head-first into this awkward and annoyingly common thing known as human life.  He had trouble meeting deadlines.  He got yelled at by people who were having a bad day.  He stubbed his toes.  He had family members and friends die and wept awkward, inconvenient tears, knowing the pain of loss.  He was well acquainted with our grief.

     My thinking was on Him today as I sat with my friend against the steel wall at the gym.  What a privilege to be with another person as she experiences pain.  What an absolute honor to witness suffering.  I feel that Jesus feels honored when we let Him into our naked suffering.  He's not ashamed when we cry.  He's not ashamed when snot is dripping off our noses and onto our pillows when someone hurts us.  He is there with us and feels our suffering with us.  It isn't awkward to Him.

     I like to picture Him with me, placing his hands on my head, wiping away my tears as they drip off my nose.  Because I believe He really is doing that.  Not in a distant, metaphorical way, but as someone actually sitting there doing it.  There is no shame in crying with Him.  He's honored.  There is no "right way" to grieve.  Just grieve with Him, and He's got it covered.


Psalm 46: 1
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble.

Brokenness

    I've heard a cry from other churches against the Catholic Church - "Christ died but once! How then do you call Him down from heaven, to crucify Him again?"  I have wept bitter tears to gaze at the altar and watch Him, my darling and my Lord,  be broken yet again for me.  It makes my heart ache.

     But having wept these tears, I begin to see the great comfort of these words: "This is My Body, which is broken for you".  What solace! What understanding! These are the words of suffering --- not needless, empty suffering, but a kind of moment when I, lost in a crowd of unfeeling strangers, meet eyes with Him.  And we see each other.  It's like all my secrets are already there in His heart. And all my lonely tears have already fallen onto His chest.  And the kind of pain that only victims can recognize in each other - He knows.  We know each other. 

     And neither of us will ever weep alone again.

     For when he asked me to come and die, He never meant that I'd do it alone.
When he bids me to take up my own cross and follow Him, He never walks behind me.  He leads the way.

     So when I gaze upon His broken Body, mystical and strangely hidden in the hands of the priest, all I need do is glance down at my own broken heart.  Oddly mangled, messy, nothing like the paintings of saints.  All I need is look at my own brokenness to feel Him nearer.  He will never leave me or forsake me.  Even in this pain.  And as we are broken together by the hands of the world, may we mingle so close that no one can distinguish us.

     I am my Beloved's
     And He is mine.
     And His banner over me is love.

     Here I will stand, weepy and broken, unashamed of my injuries and my weakness, because my incredibly strong Jesus did it first.  And if I can't stand, I will kneel.  And if I can't kneel, I will fall.  Falling, I will die.  Jesus did it all first.

My I be consumed by His love, His tears, His brokenness, until that blessed day when I, too, can say with Him "It is Finished".

Buckling Down

When I got up today, the sun was streaming at a certain angle through the beaded glass front door.  This caught my eye.  This made my heart happy.  For some reason, even though it showed how dusty my entry table is, it reminded me of hope.  It reminded me of home.  It reminded me of charging on, bolstered by past victories.

The battle for accomplishment is fought in my own head and heart. I have every tool I need to proceed.  I have won a role.  I have won a body capable of performing the steps it needs.  I have worked on a voice that can sing these things.  I know how to memorize.  I know how to act.  I know rehearsal and show etiquette.  I have all the superstitions and rituals down.  Then why it is so hard to buckle down and rehearse on my own?  It's like jumping mental hurdles.

I have three things worrying me at this point in the show:

1. Spanish Rose.
I learned a different version (!?) last time I did this show.  Why do different versions of shows exist?  Quite annoying.

2. One Boy Reprise dance.  I just need to practice dancing it with the briefcase in my hand.

3. Shriners Ballet.
Oh, my.  I haven't learned the last part of it, and it's a dance with me and 6 non-dancer men.  I just need a lot of rehearsal for this, and I'm not going to get it.  My fault.  Mea culpa.

I'm the one who said it would be fine to go out of town a week before tech week.  No big deal, right?

Yep!


Hope, heart, and hard work.  Here we go!
I'm muscling through these lines and these songs and dances.  Someone's gotta do it and that someone is me.