Remember when you thought your heart was heart-shaped. I remember how disappointed I was when I saw a picture of an actual heart. It was ugly. It looked so tissuey and bloody. All those muscles and ventricles, it looked more like a sea creature than a beautiful picture of love. It became a lot less precious when I realized a heart really couldn’t break…and sadly mine didn’t.
I have a 6 year old daughter. That’s her on the piano. She’s a beautiful girl. She still believes her heart is heart-shaped…because of that her heart is fragile. Strangely enough she protects her heart. So much so that when her brother and I were playing catch with the football she came out to play and I tossed her the ball softly, underhanded no less, and it bounced off her chest and hit the ground and this look of horror spread across her face.
“That hit my heart,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Sorry. You need to catch the ball with your hands.”
“But, but you shouldn’t throw it at my heart. That’s my heart.”
The disappointment in her eyes was devastating. She honestly could not believe her father had nearly broken her heart. And right then, neither could I. For the first time I realized how clinical my heart had become. It wasn’t the stuff of valentines or poems, but of hospital rooms and exercise. But when I looked at my daughter, I saw what it was supposed to be. I knew she had a heart-shaped heart. Fragile. Tender. The kind that we love to give away.
Was this the little child my King spoke of when He said, “unless you become like this little child, you cannot enter my Kingdom”?
How long has it been since your heart was heart-shaped?
