and when I crack open my ribs and let my heart spill onto the sidewalk, it falls straight to the ground.
when I crack open my ribs and let my heart fall out, there are heartstrings all around it. Choking it.
My heart, barely visible, is suspended in its own death trap by the heartstrings of lust and pride.
I grow tired and weary. I start to hate people. I stop talking to friends out of anger and I yell at my parents out of my own pride. I start to lust.
No, not just physical lust. But lust altogether. Lust after better grades, lust after a better body, lust after people’s love and attention, lust after being different, lust after being successful and known. My heart is bound by lust.
And then, because of that lust, I have unbelievable pseudo-pride. Pride that I’m better than everybody, pride that I deserve better treatment, pride that I deserve to have more scholarships or a better GPA or even pride that I may even know Jesus better than everybody else. Pseudo-pride.
Those two heartstrings weigh down my heart. It takes little to no effort for my heart to fall out and reach for something more substantial, something real, something genuine, some air. To reach for something pure.
These heartstrings have made me grow tired and weary.
They’ve made my heart hard and wrinkled. Bitter. Sad. Old.
My heart, my whole being, is not strong enough to have child-like joy and faith again.
My heart has seen too much. It has felt too much.
Then a hand reaches out. A hand that constantly loves and constantly unravels our heartstrings and does it by the hour. The hand of God.
A God who never stops loving. A God who never sinned. A God who never changed.
The God who, in order to unravel those heartstrings, died a vicious death.
Who, years ago, hung on a beat up and bloodied cross.
Who, with every piece of the whip sinking into his skin, cried out with YOU in mind.
Who, for days and weeks and years, dedicated his life to knowing you. To knowing your heart so that he could unravel the strings.
He screamed out to his father in the last moment of his life in order to shatter the pride and to shatter the lust.
TO SHATTER IT.
He never sinned, but he took the taunting, he took the torture, he took the hate, he took the slaps to the face and the clapping of the hands as he collapsed underneath the cross. He took the splinters in his back and the sour wine on the sponge. He took the spear into his side and the lonely tomb.
He took it to know you.
Just to hear your mouth utter his name.
He took his human blood, something that has no substitute. Something that cannot be manufactured. He offered all of it.
Life for life.
Blood for blood.
His for yours.
The man who never sinned. The man who has an eternal appetite for infancy and childlike faith. He died for our weary and prideful and lustful hearts.
His blood rushes through my heart. Washing all pride and all lust away from the corners of my arteries. This fills my heart to the point that my heartstrings snap. My heart is light. My heart sings out words of praise and life. It beats with incredible monotony but never as consistent as the One’s love who makes it beat. I am able to run and feel life run through my fingers. My feet hit the ground running and stones never phase me. I am able to laugh with no worry or consequence of somebody thinking anything different. My heart is able to beat and pulsate through my fingers. I am able to grab the hand of the ones I love and kiss them without any judgement. I am able to love with no bounds, I able to sing with no worries, I am able to dance like nobody is watching. I am able to run through fields and fall and laugh and sing out in JOY that I am no longer bound by my pride and lust. I am able to be childlike, because my Father is childlike.
I am able to live in wonder because my Father created wonder.
I am able to love because my Father is love.
What can wash away my sins? What can unravel my heartstrings?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.