"He heals the broken-hearted, and bandages their wounds." Psalm 147:3
A Promise.
Several years ago I had an experience that broke my heart.
It doesn’t matter what at this point—I didn’t expect it, and the shock of it
certainly added to my hurt. I write this as encouragement to others, so hang on
a minute. Literally years I thought that piercing pain would never fade; almost
physical pain. My heart understood, almost more than at any other time I can
remember, what it feels to break.
I’ve had a literal broken heart before which the doctor
fixed up fairly easily with a stent; 40 years ago a young man broke off our
engagement after he met a young woman from Mississippi with long blonde hair; I’ve
had the usual of life’s other bumps and bruises. This, though, differed, and I
kept waiting for others involved to mend the situation—or, at least WANT to
resolve it--which never happened, or for time to resolve the state of affairs
some way.
And waited.
Almost harder for me, I wanted to follow the teachings of my
faith and forgive others, not let this seemingly inconceivable situation make
me act in an Unchristian way. I wanted to say, “Never mind; it’s all
right.”
Well.
I failed miserably at that. I know the teachings, and I
thought I did well not to slap the several people who said to me, “You know you
have to forgive.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I know. And I do forgive—I will myself to
forgive. But, I cannot make myself feel forgiveness, and I just cannot
make myself want to be reconciled. But, I do forgive.
Really.”
Some mornings I woke up and, literally, could not catch my
breath. I always made myself get up, though, afraid if I didn’t I might,
someday, just mold and never move again. Of course, I knew that not to be true;
but it felt that way.
I cried on the way to work; frequently found quiet, lone
places during the day and wept, afraid to be found by others, then picking up
myself by my proverbial bootstraps and trudging on. Once I realized that others
involved truly had no intention of changing anything, knowing my value to
people I loved had seemingly fallen below things of truly lesser value,
I fell even lower, sadder, these folks who meant so much to me.
But reciprocal love is not required.
Though I did not do well with my faith’s teachings, I did remember some basic teachings of Christ: “But I say to
you, love your enemies, bless those
who curse you, do good to those who hate you,
and pray for those who spitefully use
you and persecute you,” (Matthew 5:44). And, so, in desperation I prayed, “Got
bless This One and That One, Her and Her” (of course, I used their names). After
a few. . . hundred times, I even found myself meaning it.
I don’t know how much change those simple prayers, said from
despair and need, made--for me or for them. As much as I could, though, I clung to
that verse from Matthew’s Gospel. “I can’t feel that forgiveness; but I do mean
the prayer,” was as far as I got most days—for a long time. On my trip to Israel few years ago, I put my hand on that Western
Wall—one of the holiest sites on the planet—and prayed for those whose very names
still wounded me, until that little Jewish school girl shoved her way past who
she felt, I’m sure, was the invading American at ‘her’ spot in the wall, and
pried my hand away. I also prayed for my family, of course, for friends. But
deeply and sincerely I prayed, “Bless This One and. . . .”
I started, just a little, to heal, tried to find joy in
other places, played with dogs, rode horses, worked, did find new friends, but
the energy to fight my way through the sadness each day, to grieve the loss of
these people I so loved drained my reserves. It got better, but, man, I gotta
say, well, not fun. And, I prayed, “Bless This One and. . . .”
One night, as I listened to a Bible teacher on youtube, I
heard her read this verse, “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted And saves
those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18).
I don’t remember the context, the topic of her talk, what
came before or after, but I felt the world stop for a second, and I latched
onto that verse with both hands and all my heart. “The LORD is near to the
brokenhearted. . . . He is near to the brokenhearted. . . . He is near. . . He
is near…..”
Of course it is part of a longer Psalm. But, I wept as I
looked at those words. Even this morning I heard a minister talking about
another topic, in another portion of Scripture altogether, saying, “The
promises in the Old Testament are for those times, but they also can apply to
us now in our situations.” Of course, he said it better. What I know is my sad,
broken heart warmed a bit, and again tears started, this time for healing. This
is the beauty and miracle and power of Scripture; God’s Word still speaks, and
I found an anchor in the sea of loss and aimlessness in which I had slogged for
some years. I’m not positive if you look in your Bible, you won’t see little
curved, fingernail-shaped indentations in the verse from me hanging on so hard
to that verse. He is near. . . it doesn’t say He is near if we are
brokenhearted over bad things we have done. It doesn’t say He is near if we are
heartbroken over spiritual things, or if none of what has broken our hears is
our fault (which is good as about 99 percent of the time I have caused my own
difficulties) or if we are handling it well (I assure you, I. did. not). It
says, “He is near. . . “ and the requirement? Brokenhearted.
We often hear stories of conversions of people in prison or
people who have gone through horrific situations “finding God.” Well, maybe it
is in those difficult, lost times we turn, just a bit, and find ourselves
running into Him, near.
But, isn’t he always near? Oh, I think so. We just get so content
and sure of our own lack of need that we don’t look for Him maybe. But, get our
heart broken? Find ourselves alone? Feeling lost? No idea what to do? We turn—and
run into the Father who loves us.
“He is near. .. . . .”
For quite awhile, I just clung to it, believing, because to
not believe it led back to the darkness of those beginning days of loss. I
started to take tentative steps out of my rather insular existence, found a
church again, continued to seek counsel, found again friends from years ago
with whom I had studied Scripture, and, being me, continually found—and sought—comfort
from my four-legged friends, even lost some of the weight with which I had kept
the world at bay.
This past year, I realized, I do forgive, even though I
still don’t feel it much. And I said to God, “If you want me to do more, You
have to change me; I cannot do what I cannot do.” All relationships are not
healed, but vast steps have been taken; I have talked with those folks, and
asked forgiveness for my part. I do not know if ever here we will be the friends
we were—I do not know that I even want that. Or, for that matter, if they do.
But, I know it is better, and, sometimes, I even handle things okay. I still do
not handle all things well; but I know He is near to us all.
And, this past summer as I did a Bible study with my friends
from those years ago, another verse spoke from the pages of the Book as we
studied it. In Joel, a small, “minor” prophet in the Old Testament, after the
priests of Israel pray to God for mercy after a time of locusts eating all
their crops. God answers them by saying, among other things, “Then I will make
up to you for the years the locust has eaten, The creeping locust, and the stripping
locust, and the gnawing locust . . . “ (Joel 2:25)--actually, is the verse on
which the teaching was that I heard this morning (though he said it all with a
Scots accent, which made it even better). In that Bible study last summer, I
read this verse and felt the same warmth in my heart—no longer so broken that
it takes my breath, still sad at the loss, but able to wake with the day and
look forward to the good—that I felt on hearing that beloved verse from the Psalms
so many months before. Other translations say “I will restore to you the years.”
Either way—make up to you or restore to you—what hopeful words. Those literal
years are, of course, over. The past few years are gone; the starting of this
new decade, though, have already begun with more hope and, well, fun than I
thought I might ever have again in surprising situations.
I have reached the time in life where much more life follows
me than leads ahead; if time crawls in youth, it flies as the years pass. As
much as I truly wanted to fight my way out of that difficult time and again see
light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, I could not even seem to crawl up to
the lip of the tunnel, or find even a dim glow at the end once I started moving
forward at all. But, God is a God of miracles; I am so very grateful for the
healing I have experienced, even as slow as it felt, at least it has come.
This morning as I listened to the minister, about whom I
have never heard, talk about this beautiful promise in Joel, he said two things
I hold. The priests prayed, “Spare Your people, O LORD.” Bringing that verse to
our New Testament Covenant times, we pray “Spare us” because Christ chose not
to be spared, but, as we celebrate in this Season of Giving, wrapped Himself in
the flesh of an infant and visited us so that He could sacrifice Himself and
make mercy our gift.
And, then, after promising to restore years, God continues
in verse 27 to say that, “ Thus you will know that I am in the midst of
Israel, And that I am the Lord your God, And there is no other; And
My people will never be put to shame.” We cannot get back those specific
years we lost; but, God, the Great Alchemist, can take the remaining years and
pack into them more—more abundance than we lost, more love than we lost, and, He
says here, more knowledge and communion with Him.
It was a tough few years. But, then, who doesn’t have
difficult years? I had hoped by this time in life those kinds of heartaches
would not show up; well. . . . But, this I know: I, who have done this life of faith so poorly
for so much of my life, had the gift—truly a gift—of just enough faith to pray,
“Bless them.” And God, Who looks to find any smidgen of faith we show so He can
bless it, so He can count it as righteousness (Romans 4), took my cracked, sad
heart and worked the restoring that only He can; He used the too-rare times I
was in Scripture to share His message with me; and I see Him restoring to me
years with joy and hope not just in the situation where I so felt shattered,
but spilling over into all of life.
He is near; He restores.
He has promised. If I, who so poorly follow and practice the
tenants of this faith, can find such reality as to see it so plainly, I know
for sure it is available to us all. We can just open the Book and start to see.
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