I’ve heard it said a thousand times. I’ve probably said it myself just as many.
Break my heart for the things that break Yours.
And I agree with that wholeheartedly. It’s a prayer I need to pray more often. I so easily get caught up in the routine, the busyness. The to-do lists and endless meetings. My heart breaks over unaccomplished tasks, unmet goals, insufficient funds, inadequate sleep. My heart needs to break more often, more consistently, for the things that break God’s.
God’s heart breaks for lost sheep. Prodigal sons. Rich young rulers. Prostitutes and tax collectors. Priests and agnostics. Kings and commoners. And for them—for the people He loves—my heart needs to break more. Much more.
Lately, though, I’m even more captivated by this thought:
God’s heart breaks for my broken heart.
He loves me that much. His compassion is that far-reaching. His grace is that incomprehensible. God’s heart hurts for my hurting heart.
The King of the Universe aches for me. The God who spread out the expanse of the sky, flung the stars into place, set the sun in its perfect position, and carefully placed the moon to simply reflect a light not its own… this God also reaches out to me, pulls me onto His lap, wraps His arms around me, holds me tighter than I realize I need, and refuses to let me go.
He weeps with me.
He doesn’t say much; He doesn’t need to. He certainly doesn’t feed me ridiculous clichés: “Smile, I love you.” “I work in mysterious ways.” “When I close a door, I open a window.” “Let go and let Me.”
His tears say enough. They tell me He understands. He cares. He sees my hurting heart and He holds it in the palm of His hand. And He holds it ever-so-gently.
God’s heart breaks for my broken heart.
[from a post on this day two years ago]