The Gift of Suffering

I'm sitting at the desk in my room at the Carpenter Street Hotel, a block away from St. John's Hospital in Springfield, Illinois, where tomorrow I'll undergo another heart procedure.  In technical terms, it's a cardiac ablation.  First they'll do an EP study (electrical mapping of the heart) which will show them the place where the arrhythmia occurs.  Then they'll "zap" that place (I'm sure that's not quite the technical term, but it's close).  Hopefully this will deaden the tissue AND the arrhythmia. And hopefully this will take me back to some state of "normal" again.

I told my primary care doctor yesterday (who is also a good friend of mine) that I was hoping this procedure would make me a new person.  I loved her response.  "I don't want you to be a new person.  I like the old person.  I just want you to feel better."

However, I must admit that all this "heart stuff" has forced me to reflect upon many things.  I do tend to reflect a great deal anyway (can't really turn that off), but since I've been forced to think about my physical heart more, I've become acutely aware of how often people make references to the heart for a variety of reasons.  We talk about the heart when we refer to courage: "Take heart!"  In a debate, we want to "get to the heart of the matter."  When concerned we have a "heavy heart."  When grieving, a "broken heart."   We admire people who have "good hearts," and pray that those who don't might have a "change of heart."  We respect those who "give all their hearts" to a cause, and when something strikes us as truth, it can "cut straight to the heart."   And when we love -- that is, when we truly love, we love "with all our heart."

My physical heart has brought me physical suffering lately.  I am eager to end that, and am SO thankful for the prayers of my brothers and sisters in Christ and a gracious and merciful God Who has me in His loving care.

But the thought did occur to me -- what if I could ask my surgeon to perform a few additional tasks tomorrow -- you know, as long as he's in my heart already?  What if he could put a protective covering around my heart so that it couldn't break?  Or a safety net so that pieces of it couldn't venture out and implant themselves in other people, other situations, where I could no longer protect them?  What if he could install some type of warning mechanism that would tell me, "Danger -- be especially careful here -- don't invest too much -- your heart will incur damage."

And then the Truth "cut straight to my heart":

"He (Jesus) was despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering...and by His wounds, we are healed"  (Isaiah 53:3-5).

Jesus.  The One sent by the Father because the Father loved us so much.  The One Who "became flesh and made His dwelling among us" (John 1:14).  Jesus understands what it means to have a broken heart because He has one Himself.  His great love flows through His brokenness, and in this love and grace we are healed.

So who I am to tell God what to do with my heart?  My heart belongs to Him.  And I am the person I am, in large part, as a result of God's grace and mercy displayed to me in the midst of my suffering.  And while I know there are countless others who have suffered far greater than I have, still, I know that God is faithful.  I know that God's grace is sufficient.  I know that God's love is more than I will ever need.  I know, because I have EXPERIENCED it, time and time again.   

And nothing brings me a deeper sense of purpose or a greater feeling of usefulness in God's Kingdom than when I can sit across from someone who is suffering, and can honestly say, from the depth of my soul, "I really do understand."  In that moment, any pain that I have felt as a result of situations or circumstances in my life is instantly replaced by a feeling of humble privilege --  the privilege of being used as an instrument of God's grace and healing in someone else's life. Because I've been there.  I've experienced it.  And I know that God is faithful.

So, even if I had the option of additional "helpful" procedures tomorrow, I'll take the heart I have.  And I will seek to love God with ALL this heart -- more and more each day.