I am an only child.
Usually, when I impart that bit of information on someone, they come up with a variety of conclusions. Only children are spoiled. They never had to share anything. They grew up lonely.
I don’t know how many of these are true, at least not for me. The internal life I may have gained from being an only child most certainly helped me on the path to being a writer. It made me an observer, someone willing to sit outside the crowd and watch what happens.
I have a few cousins, though, and one is my closest older relative in age. Her and I were always close. We mourned together when our grandparents passed away a few years ago. She is someone I can not see for months and automatically restart a conversation when we meet like it was yesterday.
As of this week, she is now on the transplant list waiting for a new heart.
Heart is a weighted term. We talk about people “having no heart.” The world is filled with broken hearts, mended hearts, new hearts and old hearts. We know some walking through life as “cold-hearted.”
A few things have happened over the last two weeks that have tested my faith. I prayed, as I’m still doing, for God to be present in a way that it is only possible and clear to be him. I prayed for a life where faith is no longer confused with a noun, but only a verb.
These longings have shut doors and opened new ones.
Why is it so hard? We latch our hands so far in this world that we ignore the cry of our heart and soul for adventure, passion, engagement and creativity. We are content to hold in a survival pattern and just make it through.
We are waiting on the transplant list, staring at our cell phone willing it to ring.
Then God answers. Things fall apart. The Creator tells us to step out and risk, leave the details to the one skilled in painting the art of our daily lives, setting up the camera shots of the epic movie of faith.
Tonight isn’t easy. This week isn’t easy. This month may not end easy, but the fight continues. I’ll still pray, still look forward, still strive to live faith as a verb and not a noun, still want a life that can only be accomplished by the interjection of God.
I want the answer to be clear; that it wasn’t me. That, in the midst of suffering, we leaned on God and he carried us through. The transplant will happen. The phone will ring if we are willing to be embraced by the vastness of God’s love and grace.
A new heart will happen. It will happen for her and for us, for my family and yours. Never give up. Never stop fighting. Never lay down after you stumble in fear of rising again.
New life is coming. Stand strong. Keep moving. Walk forward and see what tomorrow brings.