LIfted

Heaviness.
It seems to be hanging around a little too much lately. It appears to be at every turn. It creeps into our everyday life, it's in the blog I just read and it's a short walk down my hallway, alive in my own home. It's in a conversation I recently had with a friend who is broken hearted over a love lost. The kind of grief that engulfs a person. Like a death. It's waking up in the morning wondering why you feel so badly and then you think, "Oh yeah...THAT".

She talked about her sadness manifesting it self as physical pain, spreading across her chest; her heart breaking into a million little pieces. As she talked I picture jagged pieces of broken glass. I wanted to reach in and remove them for her as carefully as possible (with little tweezers like in the game "Operation") doing the least amount of damage, so it wouldn't be just a complete bloody mess.

 I knew my role was to listen, and listen, as long as it takes. I knew what not to say. I knew not to say "it's been a long time, you should be over this by now." I knew not to say that time would be the  healer, although it's absolutely the truth. (Sadness flees on the wings of time) My other job was to keep her sane, because she was feeling like she was becoming unhinged. I wanted to help her keep her self respect. Keep her from saying the wrong pathetic thing to the wrong pathetic person. Keep her from complete devaluation of self. She feels sick, crazy, empty and aching. Love lies bleeding.

I remember my first taste of grief. I was a child when my father died. I remember my aunt trying to  teach me a prayer. It started with "Our Father who art in heaven" :) I could never remember the rest, but I would look out into the night sky at one particular bright star from the big window by my bed. I didn't understand that the scripture was taking about our Heavenly Father. I thought it was a way to talk to MY father. My father, who was "art in heaven."(my masterpiece:)  I thought I was apart a special club, the club of the fatherless children. I began my conversation with my father with the phrase "Our Fathers, who are art in heaven"...and then we'd just have a chat.

Later in life I would meet my Heavenly Father. I learned that to bear one another's burdens was to fulfill the law of Christ and that a friend loves at all times. But, sometimes bearing peoples burdens is well, a burden! I mean, how much can one woman take when she has her own heavy burdens?

“Count the garden by the flowers, never by the leaves that fall. Count your life with smiles and not the tears that roll.”

Today, it all felt very heavy. So, I called on my Father (who art in heaven:) and I told him I needed a touch (and make it real Lord) a written or spoken word that I would know would be from Him. I do this often, just to test the waters, from the one who walked on the water, because I am his problem child, the one who is always asking for proof. Are you real Lord? I think you should show me..(we have only been together for about 30 years now, still on our honeymoon and getting to know each other:)

So, I would just like to thank the person who spoke the perfect words to me today. They had no idea they were being used to speak truth and love into me, but, I know the source. I hope I can be that very same vessel for someone else someday.

Sometimes, it feels good to be used:)