Hearts Were Never Meant to Bleed This Much

I found myself reminiscing today.  I found myself look back, and then regretting it.  I frequently resist moments of nostalgia that creep into my mind merely because the happy memory is usually accompanied by a deep ache that penetrates the strongest of walls around my heart.  Happy memories are often escorted by laughter that's been silenced, love that somehow managed to slip through my fingers, and time that's been burned over with more time.  It often feels like the road behind me is coated with blood and ash which drives me to never look back and fear the moment I choose to take a step forward.

I suppose this is grief at it's finest.  I often grieve the life I had before, or the life that never existed because it was replaced with pain and tears that were accompanied with my diagnosis.  I often grieve when I watch young people that are out living their lives without a thought as to how they feel physically, or what they eat, or what they're breathing in.  I suppose that ignorance is bliss... but I never got to experience that bliss in my first years of young adulthood, and I the grieve the idea that maybe I've missed something.  I grieve the idea that my moments of bliss were replaced with heartache and pain... and that just can't be fair.  Becoming so well acquainted with grief at such a  young age just can't be fair.

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I remember when I was six year old and my pet rabbit died.  I cried for one night.

I recall when I was fifteen and my best friend betrayed me.  I cried for a week.

I was sixteen when my "first love" broke up with me and I cried for a few weeks.

I was seventeen when I lost the presence of my mother in my life to a disease the robbed her of her quality of life.  I cried every time I came home to her screams of pure agony. 

I was eighteen when I lost my will to live after I was diagnosed with the same disease I watched my mother suffer from for so long.  I cried for years as I fought long and hard for my life.  I still cry if I think about those moments for too long.

Perhaps I'm just an "emotional person."  Perhaps I don't have what it takes to cope with real life.  Perhaps some of those things were silly at the time and weren't worth my tears... but despite everything, I've found that it's possible that our hearts are meant to bleed this hard.  Maybe we were meant to be broken so we can be healed and revived twice as strong.  Maybe life is fair simply because it's so unfair for everyone.  How does one experience pure joy if they are never exposed raw pain?

I've bled and cried, I've kicked and screamed, I've complained and raged, I've faithfully and willfully continued to put one foot in front of the other despite the hardship.  And what's come from it all is a sense of comfort despite the strong discomfort that plagues me regularly.  I suppose the kind of bliss that comes from ignorance isn't really bliss at all because someday you'll find yourself in the sick bed... and you'll wonder what went wrong... just like I did. 

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I've come to love my sensitive nature.  I've come to appreciate my keen sense of air pollution and unreal food.  I've come to smile at the funny looks I get from people who can't comprehend why I eat organic.  I often ask myself who in their right mind would want bliss if it is required to be accompanied with ignorance?  I've come to realize that joy and bliss are two different things, and wisdom doesn't come with age... it comes with suffering... 

I've come to gain a deep love for people who suffer on deep and penetrating levels.  I've gained a deep respect for people who suffer in ways that change them forever.  Suffering that erases the ignorance and replaces it with a sense of comfort and peace even in the storm of discomfort and pain.

These kinds of people are warriors.  These kinds of people are the people that have been sculpted in the midst of adversity.  These people have let go and let God transform them into beings of light and vitality.  These are the people that have discovered great depth in life.  These are the people that have experienced the great ache that leads to resilience and fortitude that I myself have not yet mastered.

Perhaps hearts were meant to bleed this much.  Perhaps bodies where meant to break down.  Perhaps tears were meant to be shed.  Not because we live in a cruel universe... but because God has a Divine Design that can transform blood into healing, breaking in wholeness, and tears of grief into tears of rejoicing.  May we all learn that lesson in hopes that we can grow in strength and everlasting joy. 

Perhaps we all need to reminisce sometimes...  Because the past is at times our greatest teacher and mentor.  And in the meantime, I've come to love the sound of my feet walking in the direction that God intends for them to be... because the blood and ash behind me doesn't matter at the sight of beauty and light ahead of me.