Jon Foreman – Learning How To Die
It`s a wonder to me what I do to make me feel like I`m living up to some invisible standard of spirituality. I fill in the blanks and I check off my lists and I do my good deeds and feel just guilty enough about my bad habits that it seems that I qualify. And what is the Lord looking for, except my heart. My whole heart.
I had a rather unsettling conversation a while ago with someone I care deeply about. “It’s not about avoiding the messes,” I said. From what I’ve gathered, life isn’t about detouring around puddles and wiping the mud off of our coats. It’s about our hearts. “You wouldn’t know it to look at your life,” she said, “your life seems blessed because you’ve been obedient and humble and patient.” How do you respond to someone who’s own days are filled with hurt and sadness and putting together broken pieces into a whole again, when your own seem so pristinely blessed. I’m certainly not asking to be broken or bleeding or hurt. But my cup of empathy only goes so deep; I only have so much to offer having experienced so little. Pristine is hardly relatable. At 88 and 99 I’m sure I will have scars and scrapes and permanent bruises and be an absolute mess of war wounds. But my friendships, I can only hope, will be deeper for having gone through the battles. And my heart, I pray, will be searching for His.