The Heart Transplant

The rain beat on my windshield as my wipers tried to dance in between the blows.
I was crying, trying to drive through the tears and rain drops, unsure of which was which anymore.

This wasn't your typical cry.
I was sobbing like a child who just lost sight of his mother in the supermarket for the first time.

It was a cry of release.
A release of so much.
Too much to tell you in one blog.
Too much for those of you who have just met me to get.
Years of just...turmoil.

When I held my newly born nephew in my arms, my sister tiredly smiling up at me I felt the innocence, the freshness of this life.
Untainted.
He had never experienced heartbreak.
He knew no pain or chaos.
He would love easily and freely to anyone who held him.
He was the definition of simplicity.

I was holding a fresh start in my very arms.
I brushed his face with my fingers and held back the tears from all the things my sisters little gift brought to me.

The rain washed off my windshield and the sunshine began to reflect off the remaining drops onto my face.

With that passing rain went every scream I wanted to let out for the past 4 years of my tiny life.

That cry was not one of sadness.
Or mourning.
That cry was a cry of being overwhelmed with absolute joy; one I've never know before.
I hadn't ever cried of...happiness before.
Of complete release.
I had been holding my heart so tightly to my own chest, my own husband who has fought more than anyone on the Earth to open my rigid grasp hasn't even seen its full capacity to love.
The absolute innocence of baby Benjamin broke me.

I wanted his softness.
His naive outlook on the new world around him.
His ease to love.
His ease to trust his heart with whoever claimed to keep it safe.

I broke because I had become so rough to the touch.
My heart cold and incapable to love how it once had when I was freshly 16.
It had been broken.
Not your typical broken.
Absolutely shattered.
While my husband daily attempts to find every piece he can to make me completely whole again I knew only the gentle touch of Mercy could do the job.

Mercy reached down and broke my heart again when I touched Benjamin's tiny fingers.
He broke it how a heart is meant to be broken.
He broke it so everything good and lovely could now be let in.
He broke it in such a way that Light could kiss every dark corner I had tucked away in shame.

I rolled down the windows, letting the freshly damp air mist on my face.
Heart break never felt so right or good.

Hope returned that day.
My rough edges were smoothed out.
With the birth of a baby boy came the birth of a new, unscarred, untainted, trusting heart.
My heart.

I had been putting patches where God wanted to do a full transplant.


I had to let Love win.
Over the past.
Over heart ache.
Over the longing to expose truth.
Over mistrust.
Over fear.
Over bitterness.
Over anger.
Over hopelessness.
Over seemingly lost prayers.
Over everything that keeps the Light out.

I'm not the girl I was 6 months ago.
That girl was small, weak, broken, pitiful, indifferent to each day she woke up.

I don't even recognize that girl.
She can stay where I left her, along with the heart I donated to the garbage.

I stuck my hand out the window and let it just dangle for awhile.
Swaying back and forth to some old Beatles song.