a keepsake of sorts

Date December 8, 2008

There was a time when I thought a broken heart was the greatest tragedy of all.

Now I know it’s not like that really.  It seems a broken heart is just another one of life’s aches.  An ache that is there within, but that goes unnoticed some days.  It’s a sort of hurt that hides beneath everyday activities and is covered by the glory of a sunrise or the sweeping of a breeze.

And though that isn’t as romantic as books or movies would have it seem, I think I like this version better.  After all, my heart wasn’t broken in the Hollywood sort of fashion.

My highschool love that married his college love isn’t to blame nor the man that came after him.  And I can’t give the credit to a masked stranger in a foreign land or some prince that fled when the clock struck twelve.  It wasn’t like that at all.

My best friend broke my heart instead.

He ripped it to pieces and spread them about in cities and states and countries abroad.  I looked at those shreds of me for a while and I let them dance there in the wind.  I let them fall to the earth and be trampled by strangers and I let the rains and tears soak them through.

For the briefest of moments, or months if you must, I thought I’d lost those bits of me forever, but morning broke as it always does. And in the sweetness of her glow, I started to gather those scattered pieces.  They aren’t the same at all and some are missing still, but they’ve put back together well.

There are scars and scratches to be sure, but the gaping wound is gone.  It’s painted over carefully by the colors of grace and the promise of tomorrows and the shadows and lights make it more beautiful than the original, I like to think.

It seems that a broken heart isn’t the greatest tragedy of all.

Maybe it’s like a keepsake instead.  Something you pick up along the way and cling to for a bit until life takes the novelty away.  Then you move it to some drawer in the depths of you, and though it’s still there, you think of it less often. It rattles once and again and bumps against the walls, but its presence doesn’t overwhelm you like it did at first.

Yes, a broken heart just sits there like a keepsake while the years fade its shine.

6 Responses to “a keepsake of sorts”

  1. Nieca said:

    Oh, Emily!!!! That is beautiful… and with the path that my life has taken these past few months, it could not have been written at a more appropriate time. A broken heart is bittersweet, because to have a broken heart means we definitely loved and loved deeply. And… I’m not sure I would have wanted to miss that brief moment, months, and even years of that type of love that could only be yet another privilege from God.

    I love you and can’t wait to just squeeze you to pieces!!!

  2. sheila p. said:

    I know a broken heart of another kind. The Lord saw it time to take my daddy home to be with him a month ago, and although it’s getting better with each day, it felt like it was going to tear my heart out every time I thought of him not being on this earth with me anymore. No more of his little quirky things he did and said that I can still so vividly hear! I know he was suffering, but you still can’t understand that empty feeling you are left with until it happens. Every day something reminds me of him and I am glad for all the good memories of my sweet daddy that I will one day see again.

  3. Lou said:

    Beautifully written my sweet Em. I once heard a line in a movie and I am sure it was said by someone real and important – it might even be in the Bible I am just not as knowledgable (spelling?) on my Bible as I need to be. “That which does not kill us makes us stronger” (Olymipia Ducacus in Steel Magnolias)

    Even brokeness has a purpose.

  4. Emily said:

    That is so incredibly beautiful! You give me hope, Emily!

  5. Summer said:

    I love reading your writing, Emily! It is so beautiful and thought-provoking and moving. You are incredibly talented!

  6. Trava said:

    I thank God for my heart that has been broken. It proves that He instilled in me love, passion, compassion and hope in me. I see His broken heart through the birth and death of Christ. It never amazes me more when I have known a heart break that someone else is having and I can say, “I understand.”. God does that for us. Those pieces that are pulled back together are knitted by reaching out to others and holding them, crying with them, and eventually smiling once again with them. If we are not broken and then restored, we can’t be living much of a life. You, my dear, are definitely living! Love you bunches……….T