Why our hearts break.

So what is the point of diggin’ up the old?

Is it to reminisce? To remember the love you felt? The love you lost? The love you gained? The love you learned?

Or is it simply to find grace? Grace in the mistakes. Grace in the brokenness. Grace for the other person. Grace for yourself. They couldn’t love how you wanted, or, no, how you needed to be loved. Things break. Hearts scatter. And in the cracks of broken hearts, we fill them up with love and light.
Hearts, broken, grow, in some metaphysical sort of way. You allow the growth. Or you allow for it to shrink into the darkness of a cave.
If my heart never broke, I would have no broken pieces to mend. No light to reach to.
Perhaps my heart didn’t need to break, over and over again. Perhaps God was just trying to get my attention. Perhaps I was so distracted that the only way to get to me was to break me. Break me and it, so I could turn to Him to find the heart that I had lost.
Sometimes a tinge of pain peeks back through the cracks, but the love that has deeply rooted itself since, does not give that pain the time of day. Perhaps that is the lesson.
Grace for the hurt, for the mistakes, and more room for greater love.

Food for thought.

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