Image by Raiko Runge from Pixabay 

They came from the abandoned lot next to the beach resort. Two strays, looking for food. Resort staff told us they were a momma and her puppy abandoned several months ago. “Blanca”, was the playful white puppy who followed vacationers, wagging her puppy tail until they threw her a ball to play with. The momma dog stayed at a distance, however, keeping a watchful eye for who might throw her some scraps to eat. Sometimes, she’d feel safe enough to roughhouse with her daughter on a grassy area of the resort. Daily, we fed them scraps, but they’d cower whenever we tried to pet them.

When some of the more serious staff chased them away, they’d run off through the hole in the chain link fence around the abandoned property next door. That’s where they lived. It was overgrown and jungle like, common terrain for undeveloped parts of Mexico.

When our glorious week of vacation ended, I stood on our balcony overlooking the Caribbean, listening to the waves flowing steadily to the beach shore. I knew what I would miss most. It wouldn’t be the lovely resort grounds, nor the delicious food, nor the constant service from hardworking staff, nor the most beautiful beach and ocean full of boats and piers and birds and palm trees. I would miss these two dogs who’d been abandoned.

And as we closed the door to our lovely tropical hotel room, suitcases in hand, I knew I had to close my heart as well.

It’s not easy, this closing of the heart, when the reality of pain and suffering lies all around us.

~~~

On Thursday nights, I serve and attend a service at my church. The Table (name of the service) provides a meal and worship for folks in the neighborhood. Some live in a small home or apartment, some in their car, others in a tent at a nearby park. Some walk the streets and find out about the free meal, so they come to eat, but rarely return.

The fellowship at The Table is strong. The worship band leads in praise, and the minister provides a message of hope and challenge. We enjoy a meal together, take communion together, worship together. I’m a greeter and server. After worship, everyone cleans up and checks in with each other. And then it’s time to go. I carry the dirty tablecloths to my warm car and head for the safety of home where my husband and comfy bed await. But the others? Many go out into the night where the winds blow, the rain and snow fall, or the heat of the day bears down. If they’re lucky, they find soft ground to rest on for the night. Likely, they will head to another local ministry for lunch the next day.

As I bid farewell at the doors of the church, I have to close my heart a bit, realizing I don’t know how to provide what they need. And though I write their names and their needs down in my prayer notebook, I sense the distance my heart must take. Life goes on and I move through the needs and routines and desires of my own days until next Thursday.

It’s not easy, this guarding of the heart, when the reality of pain and suffering lies all around us.

~~~

I have a friend who has had quite the struggle in life. A genuinely sweet person, she’s always helping others. Her childhood was rough, leaving her feeling alone and uncared for, even abused by those who should have loved her well. Fifty-five years old now, the last few years have been relentlessly unkind. Her body isn’t standing up to face the day like it used to. Her energies are worn and frayed, not much thread to keep things together anymore. It’s difficult to hold on to hope or faith in the Lord she’s loved and served her whole life. And now she has Covid.

And I don’t know what to do with the ache in my heart. I ask God to let me have those hardships instead, so she doesn’t have to endure anymore. I won’t close my heart’s door on this precious friend who was there for me when life was hard. But I admit, I do turn away sometimes to focus on something else. I just don’t know how to make her trials go away.

It’s not easy, this carrying burdens of the heart, this witnessing the reality of pain and suffering for those we care for deeply.

~~~

A daily routine for me is to read through the growing list of emails from various ministries, recounting stories of persecuted Christians or explaining the hardships of poverty-ridden nations. So many in need of Heaven’s intervention. I read the information and I pray the best I know how. I even have written down scriptural assurances and promises I claim for these faraway brothers and sisters who experience such trials and tribulations. I’ve prayed a lot for Afghanistan and Haiti lately. I always pray for Nigeria and Sudan and so many other places in Africa. Oh Jesus, have mercy on Africa!

Sometimes, when I first see those emails, I don’t want to open them. I want to skip reading about the horrors that take place in this fallen world. The information can overwhelm, and the feeling of helplessness is not at all pleasant. But most of the time, I find the courage to come back and open the emails, claiming scriptural truths and promises for these who experience such great trials.

I do believe Almighty God is bigger than the pain and suffering and trials of this life. I know He understands all human need. I cry out to Him for provision, for protection, for healing, for deliverance, and for blessing. But at some point, I find I close my heart to struggles too hard for me to consistently bear.

It’s not easy bearing this heart burden, always praying for the suffering to find hope.

 ~~~

I look up now, from this writing, this spewing of scattered thought. I see my favorite picture of Jesus in the boat, commanding Peace, be still! to storm-tossed waves. At His decree, the troubled sea settled. In that moment, his amazed disciples knew they had encountered something far greater than any bad day of fishing or scary times avoiding cruel, abusive Roman soldiers.

They found The One! This Jesus, who always gave crazy, mind-boggling answers to those who came to Him for hope. When someone asked if he might stay where Jesus was staying, Jesus responded: “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” What a peculiar way to answer. Jesus was saying, Yes, do follow Me, but know that where I go is always in response to where My Father leads. I don’t have a warm home or comfy bed to rest on. I never close my heart to those in need of healing, deliverance, protection and provision. Follow me; and by the way, take up your cross, for you will be sacrificing your own needs as we go.

This same Jesus fed 5,000 people once, and 3,000 another time, with fantastic miracles of provision of bread. Once bellies were full, He climbed up a hill and preached to a multitude about how a blessed life could be lived: His described blessings so strange and unexpected.

Another time, he walked confidently into the temple to confront the hypocritical Pharisees who had totally skewed the laws of God into ridiculous rules and meaningless rituals. He tossed their money-changing tables over to spill the gains they’d made by exploiting the poor. He told them Whose Son He was, knowing all the while they would never believe. Their hearts had been hardened. Their hearts were completely closed.

And then, this Jesus went to the woman at the well. The ostracized Samaritan who was hated by the Jews and marginalized by her community. This sinner who’d slept around, who’d made so many stupid choices in life. And Jesus told her He was the source of what she was thirsting for. As the truth about Him unfolded in her heart and mind, she experienced enlightened insight—a revelation of Who He actually was! And her heart opened. Heck, she even left her jar of water at the well so she could go tell others about the hope she’d discovered in this One whose heart never closes.

And later, when Jesus heard his dear friend Lazarus had died, He waited three days to visit the sisters, Mary and Martha. As He approached, they cried out, “Why didn’t you come sooner so you could heal our brother?” And Jesus wept. His heart hadn’t closed to the need for life and healing. He was just on a different schedule. He was on His Father’s time, because another mighty miracle was needed in the ordained moment.

Jesus cried, “Lazarus, come out!”  And the dead man somehow made it out from the tomb, bulldozing every grieving heart wide open to the life and deliverance only Jesus can give. Lazarus was still wrapped in embalming cloths, so Jesus further instructed, “Unbind him and let him go!” Oh yes, not only was He going to raise His friend from the dead, He was going to deliver him from the grip of death that held him bound. Take that, death! Take that, satan! Take that, evil! I have come that all might have life and might live that life in the abundance of my presence.

~~

It is ours for the asking, this life in Christ. We may need to leave our dens and nests to follow hard after Him, though. He has the open heart we yearn for. The heart that doesn’t need to stiffen or be guarded so closely. In fact, He stands knocking at the door of all hearts with an invitation, “If anyone opens the door of their heart to me, I will enter and sit down at The Table with you!” (Rev. 3:20)

As we leave our dens and nests, He helps us keep our hearts open, and to re-open them after we’ve had to shut them a bit when we feel overwhelmed by pain and suffering. He reminds us that though our flesh and our heart may fail, He gives us strength to open wide those doors again (Psalm 73:26).

Jesus is all about the open heart, but He knows we need His grace to pull open the knob again from time to time. And for those who resist and hide too long in denial or doubt, He opens our ears to hear His voice, exhorting, When you hear My voice, do not harden your heart as some did when they were in the wilderness (Hebrews 3:8).  This Jesus of the open heart keeps us from closing the doors of our hearts.

Oh Jesus, our hope for stray animals who must fend for themselves, for friends facing one hardship after another, for those in faraway places who are persecuted beyond what we can imagine, for those near our homes—our dens and nests—who walk in need of daily provision. Feed the 5,000, Jesus. Still the stormy seas. Confront the hypocrites and the ones who exploit and mislead. Seek out those who need hope, giving them living waters to quench their thirst. Jesus, raise what’s dead in us and give us life. We give You our burdened, overwhelmed hearts. Jesus, make them beat.