A million pieces

Some of you may recall a blog I wrote while in the
Philippines about 7 months ago. It was about a boy named Romel who lived in the
children’s home we worked with. I briefly told his story and how he had
captured my heart. Well I wish I could say I’ve had experiences like that in
every country, but unfortunately I have not. I think something inside of me
realized that it would be way too hard to get that attached and invested in
people and then leave them less than a month later. How can we be expected to do
that 11 times within a year? I don’t think any heart could endure it. So since
then, my heart and mind have become somewhat desensitized to most of what’s
been going on around me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had amazing
experiences and have had my heart hurt for people I’ve met. It hasn’t become completely hardened. But I have not allowed it to fully break for them because
the pain seems too much to bear. Now, in month eight, it’s all catching up with me and I realize that if
something doesn’t change, I’m going to miss out on so much that God wants to
teach me. Sure, I’ll still be useful and able to serve, but God wants so much
more for me than just “showing up”. And so do I. The refining process we all
desired in the beginning requires going through the fire. This is part of the fire
I have to endure. So last week I told God I wanted it all; no matter what that
means or how much pain it brings. And He has already delivered. Seven months of pain, suffering, and desperation has caught up with me. When we pray
for God to break our hearts for the things that break His, I don’t think we
fully realize what we’re asking. There is no way our minds can grasp just how
much He hurts for His children and in the last week I’ve seen only a glimpse of
what that looks like. And I’ve probably cried more in the past week than I have
thus far on the race. From an eleven year old boy who’s father refused him
after having him about a week of his life (after missing the first 10 years),
to a fifteen year old boy almost dying of bone cancer who experiences extreme
pain just walking (which he can’t even do on his own), to an entire home of
mentally disabled young women who cringe and tense up when receiving hugs
because of past abuse, neglect, and abandonment. All of this in a week… It’s
already taking a toll on me emotionally but I’ve decided it’s so much
better than not feeling at all. I feel more alive and more real than ever and
even though it’s painful, the joy comes with the morning, right? So I’m holding
out for the joy that comes from all of this mourning.