Uncomfortable Heartbreak

If I'm honest, I often feel inadequate for the work that I've been called to do. I encounter a lot of need, and it's really hard for me to know that I can't meet all the need that I see. I know-- it's not up to me. But that doesn't change that I want to be able to fix the brokenness I see; and I struggle every time I realize how much I can't.

This week was no exception. As you know, I was pretty discouraged by our initial numbers. I was sure I'd read things wrong, that it had been a mistake to hold one of our outreaches in East Harlem. God, why did I think you were leading me to this? Did I misunderstand what you were telling me to do?-- kept going through my head.

And then as you know, kids started whining for camp. And on Thursday, God encouraged me by sending us 32 kids.

On Friday, he overwhelmed me by sending us 61 kids.

That's right. 61! They just kept coming. Eleanor and I were running registration, and we could barely keep up with the stream of kids coming through the door. And with the kids came parents who couldn't understand why we were only going to be there for one week. One mother made herself comfortable on the chair next to our table and proceeded to ask who she had to petition for us to make this camp a permanent thing. Other mothers joined their voices to hers, asking what they had to do to get us to stay. I had to keep telling them that we were working on it but that we couldn't start a permanent program in East Harlem just yet. And they kept telling me that I just didn't understand. One mom said, "Please, I need someone to teach my daughter more than 'bang, bang, shoot 'em up.'"

That's hard to argue with.

In fact, I can't argue with it. She's totally right. And my heart started to crack.

On Friday at 5pm, those 61 kids started streaming out the door, waving their Certificates of Participation and smiling like they'd just won the hugest prize. I watched from behind the registration table as hugs were exchanged, wishing so badly I could tell them "See you on Monday!"-- but knowing I couldn't. My heart cracked a little bit more.

And then the tears started. Not mine (those would come later), but from one of the little boys. Tears, sobs, wails. It didn't take me long to find the source of the misery; he was getting louder and louder. He had been upset the day before, too, and I'd held him until he stopped crying. But that day he wouldn't calm down even when I was holding him. He just kept getting more and more upset. His dad stood awkwardly next to him, making no effort to console him. The boy cried on, and the crack in my heart grew.

Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay. Don't be sad. -- I whispered softly in his ear. He kept crying, sobbing, wailing.

Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. You had fun. It's time to go home. Shhh. -- Now he was screaming and clinging to me.

Jesus loves you so much. -- He whimpered and wrapped his arms tighter around my neck.

You're gonna be okay. Here's your coat.... -- and he threw himself back and started screaming again.

It's okay.... shhh.... Jesus loves you. Jesus, be with him. Let him know how much you love him. -- and he whimpered again and relaxed in my arms, though tears were still streaming down his face. And my heart broke completely.

I wiped the tears from his cheeks and helped him put on his coat. I hugged him tightly and whispered one last time "Jesus loves you so, so much" before he left with his dad.

We're only halfway through this month, but I'm learning a lot. I'm learning that it's okay not to have all the answers, that it's okay to sit in discomfort for a while and to wrestle with God about things that don't make sense. So I'll say it-- this week didn't make sense to me, and I'm wrestling with God about it.

So much need, and I don't understand what my role should be in meeting any of it. So much hurt, so much pain. I know I'm not the answer, but sometimes the need is so overwhelming that I don't even know how to tell them about the answer. I feel like I gave that community a glimpse of what could be and, in the process, made their hurt that much worse. And then there's this little boy who took a piece of my heart with him when he left wailing and sobbing. I know enough to know that something's very wrong with that picture; but I don't know enough to know what to do about it. I know God's heart breaks too, but I don't understand why he doesn't do something about it.

I've always loved the line in the song that says "Break my heart for what breaks yours"-- but as I sat at our closing prayer meeting on Friday night with tears streaming down my face, I thought God, I can't handle this. I can't handle my heart breaking for everything that breaks your heart. I'm just not strong enough to deal with all this pain and injustice.

This is the part where I'm supposed to wrap up neatly with some Bible verse that makes it all okay and makes sense of everything. But I'm going to sit in the discomfort for now, because I haven't found a Bible verse that makes any of this feel like it's okay. If you have one, feel free to share it with me. In the meantime, pray for the hurting hearts and those of us whose hearts are breaking as we try to serve them.