The Broken Heart
{This one is all mine. I'm still tweaking the ending, though}
The Broken Heart
“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because he hath anointed me to. . . bind up the brokenhearted. . . .” Isaiah 61:1, Luke 14:8
A pretty, teenaged girl walked along a path, cupping something gingerly in her hands, her attention riveted on the object. Every once in a while she would stumble slightly, and then she would give a little cry and clutch her possession closer to herself. She didn’t seem to notice anything else. Consequently, she didn’t notice when another girl joined her on her walk until she said something.
“Hey, girlfriend! I’m Ashley. What have you got there?”
The girl studied her new companion carefully for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust her or not. Finally, she extended her hands. Ashley peeked inside.
There were two red fragments of something that had once been quite beautiful.
“Well, girl, what is it?”
“It’s my heart—my. . . broken heart.”
“Oh, is that all?” Ashley laughed and tossed her blond hair. “I’ve got one of those. I think we all do.” She thrust her hand inside the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a plastic bag containing the same kind of fragments.
“What do you do about it?” the girl asked, desperation showing through her voice.
Ashley shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do. You have to learn to ignore it.” She smiled. “The key to ignoring it is to hide it. You have to look right, dress right, act right. Everything is great!” Ashley laughed. “The boys will come, friends will be there, good times and parties will take your mind off that.”
The girl looked at the plastic bag. The heart was completely shattered. “Did it always look like that?”
Ashley studied her heart. “No, I don’t think so. I think it was once in two pieces. Like yours.” She shoved it back in her pocket, the bulge showing through the pair of jeans that appeared to have been painted on. “But hiding it here kind of crushes it. It’s the only way, though. You have to pretend like it’s not there.”
The girl studied Ashley skeptically, then gingerly opened her pocket and placed her heart inside.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?” Ashley said cheerfully. She linked arms with her new friend and they skipped off down the road.
They hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards when the girl’s foot hit a stone and she fell to the ground, landing hard on her side. She gave a little scream and frantically reached for her heart. She pulled out four fragments. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she knelt by the side of the road, cradling her broken heart.
Ashley shrugged carelessly. “These things happen, girlfriend. You have to go on.”
The girl shook her head. “No. I can’t do it. If it works for your, you go on.”
Ashley frowned, then shrugged again. “All right. Goodbye.”
The girl was so intent on her heart that she didn’t notice when Ashley left. She knelt there, crying, for several minutes. Then she struggled to her feet and began to walk again.
The sharp pain of having her heart broken again had just receded to a dull ache when another person joined her. He was a distinguished gentleman, with glasses and a perfect mustache. His dark suit was a bit rumpled, but he seemed very collected. Not one graying hair was out of place.
“Salutations,” he said in a deep voice. “I am Professor Jones of the University—Ph.D. in philosophy. May I inquire as to what you are holding?”
The girl lifted her tear-stained face. “It’s my heart.” Cautiously, she tilted her hands so he could see. The professor nodded sagely.
“I’ve seen many of those in my day. I even had one.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Really? What did you do with it, sir?”
He thought for a moment, then opened the briefcase he was carrying. He removed a heart with “A+” stickers plastered all over the broken points. It held together, however tentatively. “I became educated. Learning will keep your heart together. Trust me.”
“Does it really work?”
“Of course it does! Look at this heart. It’s as good as new.” Professor Jones extended the heart for her further examination.
The girl looked. The heart didn’t have the same luster as the other, whole hearts she had seen. The stickers appeared ready to fall off. “Can that happen to my heart,” she asked.
“Certainly. I happen to have some extra stickers with me.” The professor pulled out a sheet of the “A+’s” and handed them to her.
She carefully reconstructed her heart, applying stickers to the cracks. When she finished, it didn’t look quite like a heart, but it was put together again. She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
He coughed to cover his pleasure. “Think nothing of it. I always enjoy helping aspiring students.”
The walked on down the path together, Professor Jones spouting knowledge, the girl looking in awe at her “fixed” heart. She was so intent on it that she didn’t notice the stone in her path. She stumbled and her heart flew out of her hands. The stickers couldn’t handle the strain and broke apart, leaving the heart free to shatter into even more pieces.
The girl burst into tears and scrambled to collect the fragments. Professor Jones watched, then continued down the road alone when she knelt to see if she had all the pieces. She didn’t notice he was gone. After a while, she began to walk again, holding her heart even more protectively to herself than before. The pain was sharper this time.
She walked alone for quite some time before a well-dressed business lady appeared at her side. “Good day, my dear,” the woman said pleasantly. “What are you holding?”
The girl hunched her shoulders. “Nothing,” she muttered.
“Oh, come now. It must be something,” the woman insisted. “I am Ms. King, President of the Bank. You can trust me.”
Slowly, the girl showed her treasure.
Ms. King looked at it with interest. “A heart. A broken heart. I had one of those once,” she said kindly.
“Did you mend it,” the girl asked.
“Yes, I did,” Ms. King asserted. “With some of the strongest stuff available.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a fragmented heart, bound together with golden thread. “This heart won’t break easily.”
The girl stared at the gilded heart, fascinated.
“There are two rules to keeping your heart together, my dear,” Ms. King said kindly. “Tie it together with riches, and don’t let any men get their hands on it.”
The girl held out her heart. “Can you do the same for mine?”
“Why, I can’t do it for you, my dear, but I can help you.” She took out a ball of the golden string. “This is the wealth of the world. You’re a smart, capable girl. You can have as much of it as you want.”
The girl eagerly spooled out great amounts of the string and bound her heart tightly together. It looked even less like a heart this time, but she tied and tied the string, determined not to let it break again. When she was satisfied, she and Ms, King walked along the path together, sharing experiences with their hearts. The girl was startled at how much they were alike. They had bother turned first to friends, then to education.
“Education wasn’t all that bad,” Ms. King said. “But it wasn’t the answer; it was just the means to get me here. Neither of us could have our heart wrapped up in money if we were uneducated.”
At that moment, the girl’s heart slipped out of her hands. It was as if the string had suddenly been coated with oil. It dropped to the ground and the string broke. The heart shattered again. The girl looked at the multiplied fragments in stunned shock, pain exploding inside her.
Ms. King let out a little laugh. “I suppose I should have warned you, my dear. Sometimes the string does that. You just have to tie it up again and keep going.”
“No,” the girl said, kneeling to retrieve the pieces. “I can’t. Goodbye, Ms. King.”
Ms. King smiled. “Goodbye, my dear. And good luck.” She left the girl in the middle of the road.
Her heart in dozens of pieces, the girl rose to her feet and walked unsteadily on down the path, not really seeing where she was going until she nearly bumped into a man wearing dark clothing and opaque sunglasses.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me, please.” She started to go around him when he caught her arm.
“Don’t hurry off. No harm done,” he said in a silky voice. “You look miserable.”
Suddenly, the girl found herself pouring out her story and showing him her heart. The man listened sympathetically.
“I know what you’re talking about. I’m. . . Joe. I believe I have what you’re looking for.” He pulled out a pill from his pocket. “If you use this on your heart, it will make it like it was never broken.”
Tentatively, the girl took the pill and placed it on her heart. Immediately, her heart began to float. The pieces slipped into place and hovered before her. Her jaw dropped open as she stared at it.
“Is it fixed?” she whispered.
“Well. . . not exactly. I suppose you could call it a fix. But it’s not exactly broken, either. As long as you have the pills, it will stay together.”
Then the girl felt a twinge of pain inside. She looked closer at her heart and saw miniscule cracks forming all over it. Her mouth opened in horror and she plucked the heart from the air. It crumbled into thousands of pieces as she touched it. It felt like someone thrust a burning torch inside of her.
Joe shook his head. “As long as you let it stay up there, you’ll be fine,” he explained.
She clutched her heart. “No! I won’t do it,” she yelled.
Joe shrugged. “No one’s forcing you.” He wandered off down the road.
The girl crumpled on the grass and looked dazedly at her heart. Nothing could mend it now. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another and another. Finally, she broke down and sobbed. She buried her head in her arms and cried.
Someone touched her shoulder. “What’s the matter?” a kind voice asked.
The girl lifted her head slowly and looked into a pair of friendly brown eyes. “My heart,” she sobbed. “Nothing can fix it now. I’ve tried everything.”
The man sat beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
It took some coaxing, but eventually the entire story tumbled out. “I suppose you have some ineffective cure for a broken heart as well,” she said bitterly. “Something that has worked for you? Tell me, so I can have my heart crushed to powder.”
“I can’t fix your heart,” the man said quietly.
She looked at him, a little shocked. “Who are you?” she asked.
He smiled. “I’m a pastor. I can’t fix your heart, but I know Someone who can.” He held out a plain box. “This is my heart. It used to be like yours, completely crushed and broken. I had despaired of ever having a whole heart again. And then I found the One who can bind up the brokenhearted.” He opened the box. Inside, on a velvet cloth, lay a whole heart. It had scars and seams, but it looked like a heart and it was complete.
“What’s holding it together?” the girl asked.
“Love,” the pastor replied.
The girl looked down at her broken heart, then to the pastor’s healed heart. “Who?”
“Come with me. I’ll introduce you.” The pastor stood up and took her hand.
Carefully holding her heart, she followed him to a hill. At the very top of the hill stood a blood-stained, rugged, splintery cross. Her eyes traveled up the wood until her gaze rested on the sign posted on top. "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."
The pastor turned to face her. “There is one condition to having your heart healed.”
“What?” the girl asked, ready to promise anything. The pain was building up.
“You have to give it away.”
“To whom?”
“The One who heals it. You have to give him all of it.”
The girl stared at her heart. The fragments seemed to shimmer in her hands. She looked up at the cross, then back at her heart.
“What’s the use of keeping a broken heart?” she said thoughtfully. She looked back to the cross. A man stood there, surrounded by such a brilliant light that she couldn’t clearly see his features. The light seemed to come from inside of him. Although she didn’t notice, the pastor stepped back, leaving her alone with Jesus.
Jesus held out his hands expectantly. The girl looked down at her heart and realized she couldn’t bear to give all of it away. She poured most of the fragments into his hands. He didn’t move, but stood silently, looking at her with such love that she began to cry. This time, she only kept one piece of her heart. As a reminder, she rationalized. He smiled sadly and made as if to give back her heart.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing, and laid the last piece in his strong, rough, gentle hands. Then she clutched at his robe, crying. Gradually, the pain that had been her constant companion throughout her journey began to subside. It decreased until it was no longer there. Her eyes filled with wonder, she looked up at Jesus.
He smiled and held out his hands. Her heart, completely whole and melded together perfectly, rested in his hands. He took her hands and cupped them around the heart. She looked at it. It had scars and seams, and it wasn’t even that pretty anymore; but the luster was back and it was very recognizable as a heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she touched her new heart.
“I love you, my child,” he said. His voice was filled with tenderness.
When she looked up again to thank him, Jesus was gone from her sight, but she knew he was watching her. Gazing with awe at the whole heart in her hands, she turned back to the pastor. He stood with a smile on his face.
“I thought you said I had to give my heart away,” she said, extending the heart Jesus had placed in her hands.
“You did,” the pastor said. “That’s the wonderful thing about Jesus: when you give him your heart freely, he always gives it back.”
* * *
“If I let You get Your hands on my heart
I knew there’d be changes You would wanna make
It frightened me to let down my guard
‘Cause I know how easily a heart can break
But the fear inside has faded as I’ve begun to see
This beauty You’ve created and You know what’s best for me
So I am not afraid to love You anymore
I am not afraid to love You, my Lord
I trust Your plans
They are perfect like I’ll be when You’re through
So I am not afraid to love You.”
FFH
The Broken Heart
“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because he hath anointed me to. . . bind up the brokenhearted. . . .” Isaiah 61:1, Luke 14:8
A pretty, teenaged girl walked along a path, cupping something gingerly in her hands, her attention riveted on the object. Every once in a while she would stumble slightly, and then she would give a little cry and clutch her possession closer to herself. She didn’t seem to notice anything else. Consequently, she didn’t notice when another girl joined her on her walk until she said something.
“Hey, girlfriend! I’m Ashley. What have you got there?”
The girl studied her new companion carefully for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust her or not. Finally, she extended her hands. Ashley peeked inside.
There were two red fragments of something that had once been quite beautiful.
“Well, girl, what is it?”
“It’s my heart—my. . . broken heart.”
“Oh, is that all?” Ashley laughed and tossed her blond hair. “I’ve got one of those. I think we all do.” She thrust her hand inside the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a plastic bag containing the same kind of fragments.
“What do you do about it?” the girl asked, desperation showing through her voice.
Ashley shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do. You have to learn to ignore it.” She smiled. “The key to ignoring it is to hide it. You have to look right, dress right, act right. Everything is great!” Ashley laughed. “The boys will come, friends will be there, good times and parties will take your mind off that.”
The girl looked at the plastic bag. The heart was completely shattered. “Did it always look like that?”
Ashley studied her heart. “No, I don’t think so. I think it was once in two pieces. Like yours.” She shoved it back in her pocket, the bulge showing through the pair of jeans that appeared to have been painted on. “But hiding it here kind of crushes it. It’s the only way, though. You have to pretend like it’s not there.”
The girl studied Ashley skeptically, then gingerly opened her pocket and placed her heart inside.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?” Ashley said cheerfully. She linked arms with her new friend and they skipped off down the road.
They hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards when the girl’s foot hit a stone and she fell to the ground, landing hard on her side. She gave a little scream and frantically reached for her heart. She pulled out four fragments. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she knelt by the side of the road, cradling her broken heart.
Ashley shrugged carelessly. “These things happen, girlfriend. You have to go on.”
The girl shook her head. “No. I can’t do it. If it works for your, you go on.”
Ashley frowned, then shrugged again. “All right. Goodbye.”
The girl was so intent on her heart that she didn’t notice when Ashley left. She knelt there, crying, for several minutes. Then she struggled to her feet and began to walk again.
The sharp pain of having her heart broken again had just receded to a dull ache when another person joined her. He was a distinguished gentleman, with glasses and a perfect mustache. His dark suit was a bit rumpled, but he seemed very collected. Not one graying hair was out of place.
“Salutations,” he said in a deep voice. “I am Professor Jones of the University—Ph.D. in philosophy. May I inquire as to what you are holding?”
The girl lifted her tear-stained face. “It’s my heart.” Cautiously, she tilted her hands so he could see. The professor nodded sagely.
“I’ve seen many of those in my day. I even had one.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Really? What did you do with it, sir?”
He thought for a moment, then opened the briefcase he was carrying. He removed a heart with “A+” stickers plastered all over the broken points. It held together, however tentatively. “I became educated. Learning will keep your heart together. Trust me.”
“Does it really work?”
“Of course it does! Look at this heart. It’s as good as new.” Professor Jones extended the heart for her further examination.
The girl looked. The heart didn’t have the same luster as the other, whole hearts she had seen. The stickers appeared ready to fall off. “Can that happen to my heart,” she asked.
“Certainly. I happen to have some extra stickers with me.” The professor pulled out a sheet of the “A+’s” and handed them to her.
She carefully reconstructed her heart, applying stickers to the cracks. When she finished, it didn’t look quite like a heart, but it was put together again. She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
He coughed to cover his pleasure. “Think nothing of it. I always enjoy helping aspiring students.”
The walked on down the path together, Professor Jones spouting knowledge, the girl looking in awe at her “fixed” heart. She was so intent on it that she didn’t notice the stone in her path. She stumbled and her heart flew out of her hands. The stickers couldn’t handle the strain and broke apart, leaving the heart free to shatter into even more pieces.
The girl burst into tears and scrambled to collect the fragments. Professor Jones watched, then continued down the road alone when she knelt to see if she had all the pieces. She didn’t notice he was gone. After a while, she began to walk again, holding her heart even more protectively to herself than before. The pain was sharper this time.
She walked alone for quite some time before a well-dressed business lady appeared at her side. “Good day, my dear,” the woman said pleasantly. “What are you holding?”
The girl hunched her shoulders. “Nothing,” she muttered.
“Oh, come now. It must be something,” the woman insisted. “I am Ms. King, President of the Bank. You can trust me.”
Slowly, the girl showed her treasure.
Ms. King looked at it with interest. “A heart. A broken heart. I had one of those once,” she said kindly.
“Did you mend it,” the girl asked.
“Yes, I did,” Ms. King asserted. “With some of the strongest stuff available.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a fragmented heart, bound together with golden thread. “This heart won’t break easily.”
The girl stared at the gilded heart, fascinated.
“There are two rules to keeping your heart together, my dear,” Ms. King said kindly. “Tie it together with riches, and don’t let any men get their hands on it.”
The girl held out her heart. “Can you do the same for mine?”
“Why, I can’t do it for you, my dear, but I can help you.” She took out a ball of the golden string. “This is the wealth of the world. You’re a smart, capable girl. You can have as much of it as you want.”
The girl eagerly spooled out great amounts of the string and bound her heart tightly together. It looked even less like a heart this time, but she tied and tied the string, determined not to let it break again. When she was satisfied, she and Ms, King walked along the path together, sharing experiences with their hearts. The girl was startled at how much they were alike. They had bother turned first to friends, then to education.
“Education wasn’t all that bad,” Ms. King said. “But it wasn’t the answer; it was just the means to get me here. Neither of us could have our heart wrapped up in money if we were uneducated.”
At that moment, the girl’s heart slipped out of her hands. It was as if the string had suddenly been coated with oil. It dropped to the ground and the string broke. The heart shattered again. The girl looked at the multiplied fragments in stunned shock, pain exploding inside her.
Ms. King let out a little laugh. “I suppose I should have warned you, my dear. Sometimes the string does that. You just have to tie it up again and keep going.”
“No,” the girl said, kneeling to retrieve the pieces. “I can’t. Goodbye, Ms. King.”
Ms. King smiled. “Goodbye, my dear. And good luck.” She left the girl in the middle of the road.
Her heart in dozens of pieces, the girl rose to her feet and walked unsteadily on down the path, not really seeing where she was going until she nearly bumped into a man wearing dark clothing and opaque sunglasses.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me, please.” She started to go around him when he caught her arm.
“Don’t hurry off. No harm done,” he said in a silky voice. “You look miserable.”
Suddenly, the girl found herself pouring out her story and showing him her heart. The man listened sympathetically.
“I know what you’re talking about. I’m. . . Joe. I believe I have what you’re looking for.” He pulled out a pill from his pocket. “If you use this on your heart, it will make it like it was never broken.”
Tentatively, the girl took the pill and placed it on her heart. Immediately, her heart began to float. The pieces slipped into place and hovered before her. Her jaw dropped open as she stared at it.
“Is it fixed?” she whispered.
“Well. . . not exactly. I suppose you could call it a fix. But it’s not exactly broken, either. As long as you have the pills, it will stay together.”
Then the girl felt a twinge of pain inside. She looked closer at her heart and saw miniscule cracks forming all over it. Her mouth opened in horror and she plucked the heart from the air. It crumbled into thousands of pieces as she touched it. It felt like someone thrust a burning torch inside of her.
Joe shook his head. “As long as you let it stay up there, you’ll be fine,” he explained.
She clutched her heart. “No! I won’t do it,” she yelled.
Joe shrugged. “No one’s forcing you.” He wandered off down the road.
The girl crumpled on the grass and looked dazedly at her heart. Nothing could mend it now. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another and another. Finally, she broke down and sobbed. She buried her head in her arms and cried.
Someone touched her shoulder. “What’s the matter?” a kind voice asked.
The girl lifted her head slowly and looked into a pair of friendly brown eyes. “My heart,” she sobbed. “Nothing can fix it now. I’ve tried everything.”
The man sat beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
It took some coaxing, but eventually the entire story tumbled out. “I suppose you have some ineffective cure for a broken heart as well,” she said bitterly. “Something that has worked for you? Tell me, so I can have my heart crushed to powder.”
“I can’t fix your heart,” the man said quietly.
She looked at him, a little shocked. “Who are you?” she asked.
He smiled. “I’m a pastor. I can’t fix your heart, but I know Someone who can.” He held out a plain box. “This is my heart. It used to be like yours, completely crushed and broken. I had despaired of ever having a whole heart again. And then I found the One who can bind up the brokenhearted.” He opened the box. Inside, on a velvet cloth, lay a whole heart. It had scars and seams, but it looked like a heart and it was complete.
“What’s holding it together?” the girl asked.
“Love,” the pastor replied.
The girl looked down at her broken heart, then to the pastor’s healed heart. “Who?”
“Come with me. I’ll introduce you.” The pastor stood up and took her hand.
Carefully holding her heart, she followed him to a hill. At the very top of the hill stood a blood-stained, rugged, splintery cross. Her eyes traveled up the wood until her gaze rested on the sign posted on top. "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."
The pastor turned to face her. “There is one condition to having your heart healed.”
“What?” the girl asked, ready to promise anything. The pain was building up.
“You have to give it away.”
“To whom?”
“The One who heals it. You have to give him all of it.”
The girl stared at her heart. The fragments seemed to shimmer in her hands. She looked up at the cross, then back at her heart.
“What’s the use of keeping a broken heart?” she said thoughtfully. She looked back to the cross. A man stood there, surrounded by such a brilliant light that she couldn’t clearly see his features. The light seemed to come from inside of him. Although she didn’t notice, the pastor stepped back, leaving her alone with Jesus.
Jesus held out his hands expectantly. The girl looked down at her heart and realized she couldn’t bear to give all of it away. She poured most of the fragments into his hands. He didn’t move, but stood silently, looking at her with such love that she began to cry. This time, she only kept one piece of her heart. As a reminder, she rationalized. He smiled sadly and made as if to give back her heart.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing, and laid the last piece in his strong, rough, gentle hands. Then she clutched at his robe, crying. Gradually, the pain that had been her constant companion throughout her journey began to subside. It decreased until it was no longer there. Her eyes filled with wonder, she looked up at Jesus.
He smiled and held out his hands. Her heart, completely whole and melded together perfectly, rested in his hands. He took her hands and cupped them around the heart. She looked at it. It had scars and seams, and it wasn’t even that pretty anymore; but the luster was back and it was very recognizable as a heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she touched her new heart.
“I love you, my child,” he said. His voice was filled with tenderness.
When she looked up again to thank him, Jesus was gone from her sight, but she knew he was watching her. Gazing with awe at the whole heart in her hands, she turned back to the pastor. He stood with a smile on his face.
“I thought you said I had to give my heart away,” she said, extending the heart Jesus had placed in her hands.
“You did,” the pastor said. “That’s the wonderful thing about Jesus: when you give him your heart freely, he always gives it back.”
* * *
“If I let You get Your hands on my heart
I knew there’d be changes You would wanna make
It frightened me to let down my guard
‘Cause I know how easily a heart can break
But the fear inside has faded as I’ve begun to see
This beauty You’ve created and You know what’s best for me
So I am not afraid to love You anymore
I am not afraid to love You, my Lord
I trust Your plans
They are perfect like I’ll be when You’re through
So I am not afraid to love You.”
FFH
posted by Daramis at 22:54
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