“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8 NIV
When I was eight, I loved to draw hearts: perfectly innocent pink and red bubbles scattered across the page. When I fell in love, I drew hearts again: rounded and symmetrical, a representation of joy and expectation. Those perfect hearts represented a fairy tale version of
life. These days, I prefer the complex and sorrow-tinged symbol of the broken heart. It has become my identity. There is depth in my broken heart. There is strength in my broken heart. There is surrender in my broken heart.
For over ten years now, I have loved a son who struggles with addiction and mental health issues. Over and over, I have watched him cycle through drug use, withdrawals, and weeks or months of clean only to be faced with the challenges of debilitating OCD and panic attacks. The days of peace and laughter sometimes feel distant and sparse. My heart breaks for the son that used to be. It breaks for the son that should be. It breaks for the son that is.
I have a favorite spot in my house where I like to do my devotions each morning. It includes a comfy chair, a soft blanket, and a coffee in my hand. On the wall behind my chair there is a live-edge section of wood from a tree we cut down a few years ago. As it dried, it began to take on the shape of a heart with a crack running down the center.
This fractured wooden heart reminds me of the abundant love of God the Father, who sent his only son to die for us. A God who looked on us in our sin and brokenness and who ached to see us reconciled to him and set free from our bondage. It reminds me of the sacrificial love of Jesus who sweat tears of blood in the garden and surrendered his will to the father to the point of trading his righteousness for our sin as he died on the cross.
“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” Luke 22:42 NIV
That love is not a fairy tale kind of love. That love is deep, and rich, and strong. That is the love I want. So, from time to time, while I read scripture, pray and sip my coffee, I look up at that broken heart and I am reminded that the best kind of love is one that includes sorrow.