The Gift of a Little Heart

There is a bit of my heart in everything I write.  It is how I express my heart.  Spoken words are never quite as useful for me, but if you give me some time (perhaps the most crucial element) and paper and pen (or a computer), I can describe (to an extent) the workings of this heart.

Writing allows me the chance to tidy the messiness of a heat that feels.  Too often I rail against my own heart, how the feelings it has do not line up with logic, how I cannot control where my heart is pulled, or how the heart has a power that the head finds difficult to contest.  When I write, I give my head the chance to make sense of this little heart.  I am able to wrap up some loose ends and to really consider what is occurring deep within.

Once upon a time, way back in college, I was on the verge of dating.  In the process of trying to understand my own heart, I wasn’t very good at letting this man know what the internal conflict was over.  He wrote me a letter to say that perhaps it was best if we didn’t date.  Although I didn’t like the contents of the letter, it gave me the freedom to respond in the way that is most natural for me: in writing.  After reading through my letter, a few pages long and filled with heartfelt attempts to give a brief glimpse into my inner chaos, he said that he was able to understand me better.  Apparently, what was going on inside of me wasn’t what he had thought from his outside perspective.  Granted, in any relationship you need to have the capability to sit down and have a conversation (one cannot always be stopping the conversation to pen a lovely piece of prose about what one actually wants to say), but it can be helpful to take a step back and write it out.

As self-centered as this may seem to be, this blog has always been about me.  Well, it is about Jesus, but it has always been for me.  I need to write out the workings of my heart.  I find solutions and solace when I can express myself in this way.  Yet I’m very protective of my writings, as though they are my little children.  I am detailing the movements of my heart in words that anyone with the correct web address can access.  I try not to think about it too much, but sometimes I will see where blog views come from and I wonder, what does that person in China/Russia/Germany think about this little heart way far away?  Does a heart that feels these same emotions beat within them, too?  Do they read a few lines and then scroll away, uninterested by a heart of such meanness?  (Ahem–meaning: “poor in quality and appearance; shabby“)

Yet while this blog started and continues to be for my own benefit, I am led to wonder if perhaps, like healing, the Lord is asking for it to be about you, too.  He has this interesting way of dealing with me.  The Lord knows I am slow, so slow.  He knows He must gently ease me into anything or else I will fall into a melancholic heap and pray for death (ask my parents about my first year of teaching).  Perhaps this is what He is doing in this situation, too.  He shows my heart how to express itself and then reminds me that it is not for me alone.  And who knows what He will do with that?  I don’t, but I am beginning to get used to the idea that my littleness might be useful when placed in the shadow of His greatness.  Because isn’t that what I’ve always wanted?  To somehow have a great mission even though I am little?  Perhaps He has a plan for all this littleness.

No.  Not perhaps.  He does.  

Maybe God will change the world through each of us by utilizing something within us that seems commonplace and ordinary, but can be fantastic and wonderful when in the light of His Majesty.

Perhaps all He ever wanted anyway was our littleness.  Our hearts scribbled on paper, unadorned by anything but the Truth.  A vulnerable, sincere gift of self.

“For in sacrifice you take no delight, burnt offering from me you would refuse; my sacrifice, a contrite spirit. A humbled, contrite heart you will not spurn.”  -Psalm 51

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