I have at least six of my daughter’s toy horses in a bag with broken legs and hooves.
I have a sewing basket for needles, thread and homeless buttons. I have a place on my desk for tape to mend unintentionally ripped coloring pages. I have boxes of batteries to fix electronic toys that have made their last sounds.
I fix broken things.
I put bandages on three-year-old knees and use words to bind up little spirits who’ve been wounded. [I do the best I can to fix those].
As a mother, I’m a fixer of the broken.
But today, tonight, I need a broken heart. In fact I’m looking for one. And I don’t want to fix it.
I need a heart that breaks for the world: a heart that hurts for the lost, for the less than, and for the needy. I need a heart that is broken for the hungry, for the ones without homes and for the fatherless.
I want eyes that well up when I witness oppression or slavery, for war-torn families and famine-ridden land. I want to break in half for the ones who are dying, who are starving, who’ve been victimized.
I need a broken heart.
I want to feel for the unloved, the unwanted, and the unneeded. I even want to break for those that hurt and abuse, because they’ve been abused [and You love them].
I want You to ravage me, ruin me and destroy me for normal life.
I need a broken heart, one that
or words can’t fix.
Because only with a broken heart can I learn how to love.