JOY in pausing to feel a heartbreak

How could one actually feel a sense of joy in the midst of a heartbreak? I wish there was an easy answer. I hope that the “things are going to be all right” well wishes of well-meaning friends would actually spell a magical turn of events – to change our mourning into dancing, our silent sobs into celebrating, our secret cowardice into renewed strength.

Our hearts break for a million reasons. And while there is no escaping such inevitable moments of powerlessness, I choose to pause and let things break my heart.

I let things smash my heart each time I choose to forgive when every part of me screams to get even or get justice or be noticed.

I let things blast my heart each time I choose to celebrate the joys of those I love as they see their dreams fulfilled while I sit endlessly waiting for answers to my secret prayers.

I let things shatter my heart each time I choose to give away what I think is precious and mine because it will make a huge difference in the life of another.

I let things tear my heart into pieces as I watch images of death and loss and hear voices of hopelessness and push myself into giving more, living with less and praying ever more desperately for things to change.

I let things raze my heart as I struggle to understand why bad things happen to the best people; why people have to fail before they could succeed; why some of us have to suffer for a little while.

I let things blow my heart into pieces as I stand with people who mourn as I nurse my own pain, just choosing to shut my mouth so I could hold their hand and choose to be there as a friend who believes and who cares.

I let things slaughter every pride, every fear, every accusation, every urge to give up, every lie and everything that keeps me from rising above the pain.

And as I break, I let the tears come. I break until all I could ever do is to worship and call on a name who knows how to heal a broken heart. That name could be anything to anybody. But to this heart that chooses not to fight frailty and loss by my own might, there is only one name.

Jesus.

And while every heartbreak has yet to make sense, I am always surprised how I gather new strength, how I spot unbelievable love, how I learn to dream again.

And in that complicated process of accepting one ache after another, I find reason to laugh again; to sing a happy song; and to find every reason to move forward with joy.

Help the Philippines

In this time of unimaginable grief, I guard my heart carefully lest I shun gestures of love expressed both awkwardly and beautifully. We can only imagine how much anguish and heartache the survivors have to endure. There is no telling what exactly it would take for a wounded nation like ours, to be better.

My heart will stop making sense of things. Instead, I will spot life-giving moments – the continuous exchange of love, the overflow of messages of hope, the image of a world that helps and reaches out, the echoes of prayer said in many different languages, often in sobs and fierce wailing, and that heroic disposition to build something new out of the rubbles.

I know that every Filipino, and anyone who has loved a Filipino will never be the same again after the storm.