alyciatimm

“And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer: Let it be.”

In a world of division, so many are seeking that “thing.” That thing that crosses over strong barriers. That thing that can sew together even the most divided of adversaries. That thing that all can relate to, understand- liberals and conservatives, religious and agnostics, eastern and western.

People, scholars, experts, philosophers, have searched for years looking for that thing that can bring some form of common ground among those around the world.

The Beatles, they were not scholars, but I do believe that they found it- that thing. In this simple line, not even the most quoted from this song, they identify and establish, that thing- a broken heart.

We all know the pain of a broken heart.

Do we all know different levels of this pain? Sure, but I think that comparison is why no one can quite get it. It’s why there are no answers- because all of us with our broken hearts can’t agree. We can’t just take broken hearts at base level and mourn for each other in the suffering. We compare and diminish. When the truth, the only thing that matters, is we’re all hurting.

We all know hurt.

Let It Be is my all-time favorite song. And though I tend to be a purist, my favorite rendition of this song actually comes from the movie, Across the Universe.

In this poignant and painful scene, you see a mother receiving the news that her son was killed in Vietnam. The song starts, and we are taken to the inner city violence of the Detroit in the 1960’s, scenes of violence that, despairingly, look desperately close to current scenes of 2020. The video continues going back and forth between these two different, but simultaneously occurring, worlds- the family of the soldier, and the family of a victim to this violence. In both story lines there is loss, there is heartbreak, there is a funeral, and though from the outside it all looks so different- different people, different cultures, different circumstances, different worlds, the underlying emotion is the same.

Pain- deep, throbbing, inescapable pain.

Pain is pain, death is death- and if you can watch this scene and justify that one is worse than the other for any particular reason, I would dare to say that you are part of the problem.

In February I started writing about my pain. Week after week, I came here. I started blogging weekly because it is where I felt I was called to contribute in my million-mile-an-hour life that I truly had no grasp on. I still don’t.

I started writing about pain because that is what is currently so real to me. I never imagined that I would be here. I never imagined that parts of my heart would evolve into what they have become. I never knew my words brewed from my life experience, would ever resonate with anyone else. I simply wrote, and continue to write, the things that I have no more capacity to hold inside of me. I have been so incredibly humbled by the amount of people who read, share, and respond to these explosive words of my temperamental soul.

More than that, I have been deeply moved by the stories you have chosen to share back with me- stories of your own pain. So many of you, who have never even met me, have allowed me a glimpse into the most vulnerable parts of your life, your pain, and I cannot even express what this means to me.

1 Peter 4:13 says, “but rejoice insamuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.”

Some days this thought is all that gets me through, this idea that the aching in my chest is something that connects me to my maker. It’s something that connects me to my husband as he sits across the table from me with a similarly broken disposition.

It’s something that connects me to our friends and family as we all navigate deep love, pain, and fear in this undesirable circumstance.

It is something that connects me to you.

And in that, I think we begin to find answers.

I’ve learned over the past year that grief is a floodgate, but one that really should be opened more often, despite the ‘keep it bottled’ culture we live in. When you reach that full capacity, and you can’t help but tell the random stranger that you are in pain, it is rarely met with the uncomfortable reaction we expect. Instead, I’ve found that when someone hears about my own pain, they have their own story to tell.

We connect, because pain is universal.

When I told the air conditioning repair man that if possible, I need it done earlier because my husband has stage four cancer, he told me that his wife was just released from a four-month stay in the hospital following a stroke.

Suddenly, two strangers in two different paths of life understood each other. We found answers in pain.

When I told the mattress saleswoman about all that I was looking for in the purchase, and why I needed these specific features in an overpriced bed, she told me about her horrid season of losing her mother to cancer.

Suddenly, two strangers in two different paths of life understood each other. We found answers in pain.

When I sit behind my computer and I tell all of you about the broken parts of me, and you dare to respond with your own stories, something moves. I hear about the things we have in common even worlds away, and I feel a little less alone.

I hope you do as well.

Because as broken-hearted people agree, there will be an answer.

Pain is meant to be felt, and when we feel it, we can connect to others.

Pain is meant to be talked about, because in that we all find common ground.

Pain is meant to be shared, because it is much too heavy to carry alone.

Pain is truly our answer.

It is my hardest, but most fulfilling, honor to enter into Christ’s suffering with so many of you week after week.

Thank you.