The old of heart: the hurt, the stubborn, the confused, those who have seen more than their short lifetimes have had time for… this people group has been heavy on my heart these last days. They hide it all so well; they remind me of myself, perhaps that explains my fascination with people such as these. That and their eyes. The eyes so deep they make me feel like I could dive in. So much is happening there, right under the surface. They may look me in the eye, their eyes might dart from here to there, and they could be any color, but there is a subtle distinction that engages my imagination. Though sometimes the imagination does not have to be put into action very much, sometimes they are willing to tell their stories, only I have not yet met one of these beautiful broken people who appreciates sympathy. “I’m sorry.” is met with “I can handle it.” my soul wept as I said “I know.”
Maybe my soul should not have wept. Maybe the old sayings “No pain no gain.”, and “What doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger.” should have crossed my mind. Still my soul cries. The pain they must endure seems monumental in comparison with occasional miniscule gains, and strength such as this often seems unnecessary. One must wonder what God is preparing this generation for, with so many young people who are truly old at heart. Or is it merely one generation suffering for the sins of the last? What will these enduring ones be like in ten, or even twenty years? By then will the pain have killed them, or will they be strengthened, becoming the strong leaders and teachers that our nation so desperately needs? Will the refined by fire turn to God to complete the purification process, or will they trust in their own stubborn strength to see them through? I cannot predict the future; I can only guess at the reasons for these hard lives, but I am sure that these heartbreaking pasts will not go unused.
The old of heart remind me of myself. I have not had a difficult life, yet I see mirrored in their lives what might have been. I find stubbornness, and grit such as my own. Perhaps God chooses a few of those with lesser pains to mourn over the fate of this people group, to pull them towards himself and into His love. God has chosen me, and created me for a purpose, just as He has done for them. My past has helped to make me who I am. And yet, it is not in my past that I am able to relate to them, it is not rooted in my past or in the present, this bond, this attraction I cannot explain between myself and these hurting teens and children. Maybe it is a seed God himself planted inside of me, maybe it is something I will never comprehend, but just accept, and act on.These people are my passion; they are pulling on my heartstrings. My question is: Who is pulling on yours?