Monday, October 24, 2016

some days: you just sit down.

I want to know what ghosts haunt the halls of their hearts. I want to know what burdens rest indivisibly to the passers by. I want to know what pain sits behind the scenes, out of reach, and causes the tears. 

I think there's more to it. 

And it's exhausting to dig deep and to set up camp, some days.

Because it is not all solved with hugs and sweaters. 

And it hurts, because I can't solve everything. 

It's not all just a matter of math facts or perfecting pronunciation. 

Because here is what I see: I see shrunken shoulders, I hear broken sobs, I see shuffling feet scurrying into the shadows, I hear cries of anguish just begging to be loved, I see too-young hearts carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders-with fears of immigration laws, the burden of hunger, the care for their siblings, and the little caves beneath their eyes tell me there is more to all of this, than I'll ever know.

And so I hustle to and fro, even amidst such an admission, because I have a waiting list of places to be and ones to see. And there are times, there are times when I tell myself I have to trade in my time just to cross off a list of tasks. 

Yet, Jesus enters in and I stop before I can even make it down the stairs, because a little heart shouldn't have to wrestle with worth. And I may not come close to repair what has been broken, but I can heed the call of staying. I can heed the call of holding the hurting hearts. I can sit down and pour out hope to fill in the holes. 

I can dig deeper, even when it is exhausting.

Because these little loves deserve love and a sense of home, and I'll spend the rest of my days gently reminding them that they aren't alone. 

Today, I chose to dig a little deeper and let my love go even further-with fifty or so words each written with a different heart in mind. I handed out the little square notes and as I was turning around to head out; she caught me in an embrace and said she couldn't stop crying. 
It has been two days of holding loves and gently tending to their tears.

And I may not being able to fix what has been broken; I may never know what remains unspoken. But I cannot let that keep me from loving. I cannot let that keep me from staying.

It's not always about the tasks and exceeding expectations. It is not even about perfecting the lost art of pronunciation. 

It is about love and ensuring that not a single one becomes lost in a system of streaming numbers. 

It isn't a glorious story of fixing, but it is a beautiful story of being, sitting and choosing to stay.
In the midst of what seems to be missing, these little hearts somehow know my name, return my love, and bring me joy. 

And oh, I am blessed.