...to my first love.

I'm starting to understand the day to day struggle of finding your identity in a place it isn't. I'm starting to understand the feeling of emptiness that you can't get away from, that follows you around, that makes it a necessity that you schedule everything out because if there is any slot of time not assigned, you run back to your emptiness. I'm getting a little glimpse of all that. I'm sure it doesn't help others that are going through similar feelings, but at least I'm not as ignorant now. I know in my head that time will heal my heart and I'll begin to rediscover myself eventually, but my heart still longs for comfort.

My dad used to tell me that I should be a doctor. I'm not sure what he saw that lead him to that idea, but what comes to my mind is how queazy I feel when I'm around people in pain. My Granddad has had some health issues over the last few years, mostly with his feet. He was told he would never walk again, but with a little assistance from some very supportive boots, he gets around pretty well these days. Still, whenever I see him stand up and start to move around, I feel pain, I feel the pressure on my feet, I feel an emptiness in my gut because I know all his progress could be gone with one off step. There's no way I could surround myself with so much pain every day. I feel a need to say the right thing and do everything exactly right so that healing takes place immediately. And then I find myself needing healing, and I realize--although I've realized it again and again throughout my life, I have a very fresh realization--that sometimes it's not as easy as someone saying the right thing to you. Something is broken, and talking to it and treating it right does not repair what's wrong.

Forgive me for being cliche, but it doesn't require a high degree of spirituality or an advanced knowledge of philosophy to realize we live in a fallen, broken world. We are surrounded by pain all the time, and based on experience, most people would have to conclude that covering up is about the best we can do with healing. Sure, your body will fight against a fever and your cuts will seal, but there is a brokenness about our lives that reaches beyond our bones. That is where healing finds its greatest resistance. When we have a headache, we might take a pill; when we scrape a knee, we might disinfect and bandage the wound; but what is the remedy for a broken heart? What bandage can we put on a mind that is believing the lies that it's being fed?

There is something about emotional and spiritual brokenness that makes it so much more stubborn. If it were up to us, our hearts and minds would be healed, but sometimes there is something that interferes with our natural healing processes. Something gets in the way. We speak of miracles in our family when we talk about my Granddad being able to walk. His feet were breaking down faster than his body could repair them, and although it took surgeries and therapy, something as simple as walking has become a miracle. And yet, despite many injuries to bones and joints in my feet, it seems very normal that my body healed itself and the fact that I am walking doesn't impress anyone. It is the fact that my Granddad's healing seemed to defy nature's timing that we see a miracle. We speak of miracles when a person recovers from cancer when they are told they only have weeks to live, but when surgeries remove tumors and chemotherapy destroys cancerous cells, recovery is seen as successful treatment of the disease. And so it seems to me that the only difference between a miracle and normal recuperation is that a miracle possesses one of two properties: a miracle happens without the normal restraints of time, or a miracles bypasses some variable that was making healing especially difficult or impossible.

Maybe we all need some miracles in our lives... What if we could remove the hidden variable that keeps us trapped in our emotional brokenness? What if we could overcome the filter in our mind that twists our thoughts? What if we could stop believing the lie that keeps us running back to our emptiness? It would be a miracle, and I hope, for your sake and for mine, that miracles are still possible.