The Beating of a Heart

You bruised my heart when you banged it around,
You said it wasn't worth fighting for and took it for granted.
In the discovery of the betrayal of vows, it bled heavy, tears mixed with thick crimson, leaving but a pale remnant of the life that flowed through it previously.
Now it beats strange, lopsided, nursing the wounds left by the sickness of disappointment and the mourning of dreams lost.

But it beats still.

How does one recover from such a blow? From one as such that leaves perfect fingerprint outlines on shaken arms or beaten bottoms?
How does one breathe when the weight of desperation and loneliness crushes down on the chest?
The simple rise and fall of the lungs in a previously simple world is so inadequate now, leaving the body starved, lips blue, the heart beating shallow, dull.

But it beats still.

You tell me that God hates divorce and my heart is hard and my god is small;
I open my mouth to speak of His mercy and grace and release from oppression and falsehoods,
but you wouldn't hear it because God hates divorce.
But He also hates pride and injustice and arrogance and oppression and sin and the planks that blur all of our vision.
And so I cling to Him under the shadow of a mighty wing and listen for the beating of His heart.

And it is beating still.

And someday the purple black spotting of capillaries blown open, now painful to the touch, will ease, turning to shades of unspeakable green and yellow that will once again flow crimson.
The vibrance of life is waiting, refilling, beating low and steady as it pushes through the repair of a life in shambles.

But it beats still.
And I forgive you.


All grace and all peace as I venture through a new and scary season of life.