I wake up in the morning and something doesn’t feel right. My heart hurts. I struggle to find words for it. It’s like a band-aid being ripped off, but it stings a lot more. “Ouch” is the only word that makes sense, but it sounds so childish. I catch my breath and cringe and cry, like usual. I grind my teeth together and whisper my heartache to God through the knot in my throat and the tears I can’t restrain. My feeble words seem stupid:
Ouch, God. That really hurt. Why did you have to do that? Ouch, ouch, ouch. Please hold my heart, Papa. You’re the only one who is big enough, strong enough, careful enough. But I still don’t know if I can trust you, or me, or anyone.
How can I know that unlike human hands, your hands are trustworthy when all I’ve ever known is the hands of careless men? How do I know you’ll keep holding my already-cracked heart? How can I know that you won’t let me go or leave me in the dust or decide I’m not worth it after all?
In the midst of my heart-aching, my heart sings with this song:
Sometimes I just wanna start over ’cause everything looks like a wreck. And I need the courage to carry on ’cause I can’t see what’s ahead. And there are places I’ve wished I could be; battles I’ve wanted to win; dreams that have slipped through my hands.
But I’m still a dreamer, a believer. Oh, I lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You ’cause You can make anything new.
I don’t have every answer in life, but I’m trusting You one day at a time ’cause You can make a weak heart stay alive forever. And this is where heaven and earth collide. I lift my hands. I give my life. This is how my weary heart stays alive.