Love the Hurt Away

Eric Benet talks about loving the hurt away.

I’ve experienced a lot of hurt. More hurt in this past year, which makes the other hurt that my heart experienced in my life seem like a scraped knee. My heart has been through a war; and only after a vicious and bloody tug of war, is it still standing.

It is pumping, but only because in God I have hope.

I found the shreds on the ground and began to sew them together again. But, my fingers were swollen and burned because I held onto the rope that connected my heart and my mind. So my sewing was just barely working; plus my fingers hurt and my limbs were tired.

Tired of thinking that I could let the rope go, let my heart go and, with the expertise of a surgeon, my heart will be turned from ‘in need of emergency care’ to ‘resting, in recovery’ even if I’m in the ICU of an infirmary.

In the past, I’ve been assured that the ‘carer’ of my heart was one who was kind and gentle and had state of the art equipment/techniques. I wasn’t looking for a miracle worker — I already have that. I was in search of decency amoung men, amoung humanity. Well in actuality, it turned out that his equipment was rusty and his certificates made from construction paper with lines etched by crayon. He graduated from the school of hard knocks and proceeded to take my precious heart, who’d come to expect prestige and royal treatment, on a grand, up-close and personal tour through the house of horrors.

Who ARE you? I screamed.

And slowly, I faced a mirror. Asking myself.

Who AM I? Would I, in fact stay or go? At some point, I became as culpable as the heartkiller. So I chose to go. And in choosing to go, while I salvage my heart, there’s a part of it that got stuck. Sort of like when papertowel sticks to the top of cheese pizza. Yeah, you may save the slice, but there’s some cheese that’s always sacrificed for your overheating.

Those small portions of me…
Those are remnants of me…
Gone to the winds of experience; eaten by the brutality of humanity.

Rubbed whole, by the oil of the Holy Spirit; remembered by my mind.

And like a soldier, sometimes I feel the ache of something that is no longer there.

So if you, decide to take my heart…in all of its…wonderful depth, sensitivity, warmth and beauty – my mind is different. And true to form, I may need someone with the courage of a warrior; who’s spirit is soft like baby skin; with a eye as keen as an eagle – I know I’m a prize; but for every positive you see, there’s more treasure below the surface, if you want to get to it.

Ahh… writing on a Wednesday afternoon.


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