My husband’s request as to where I’d like to hang the heart-art he gave me was once again answered, “I’m not sure yet”. Fact is I don’t like hearts on the wall, on clothes, anywhere. The only hearts that make sense to me are the Lord’s quiet whispers, “Go love them for Me”. 
“Yes Lord, I will”, flows with ease. Yet I’ve realized that there was a disconnect between my head and heart. Becoming a solo-preneur years ago facilitated my becoming more task than people orientated. My work mode that of focusing on the positive, no delving into the hurt, merely helping others find their dreams and how to get there.
God nudged my yes-promise to resurrect my heart to feel again, deeply. Recalling the prayer, the day I discovered my youngest daughter was mentally challenged: “Let me know how others feel, not just be my natural empathetic self”. It was the moment when I stepped into that deep, dark vacuum of fear and pain and allowed me to enter into the hurt of others. My heart learned to beat a little more in His rhythm of love. It faded as life crushed in, years later, with my marriage ending after 25 years and the exhaustion of change gripped stealth, cold fingers around my throat. I was spent.
Healing came in time and with renewed vigor as a Life Coach my “Yes, Lord”, had Him press deeper. He asked me, “Do you know the cost of your renewed prayer?” Instantly, I saw a glimpse of Him beaten, spat on, carrying a cross . . . dying from the pain, being separated from love – because of love. This I will never know – the extent of pain He endured, endures, is beyond my comprehension. What would await me I didn’t know. That’s okay, because not living in Him and for others has a void that gnaws and hollows your soul to devastating emptiness. This I do know.
Stepping into that place of abundance with Him, waiting for evidence of the new expression in me, I obediently set out to the She Speaks Conference in North Carolina. Arriving early, I stepped into the prayer room where each attendee’s name had been carefully prayed over and placed alongside one of the names of God. I eagerly read each name looking for my given attribute of Him.
Tucked at the end of a table was a charming painting of a heart and there, all alone lay my name before it. No name of God, just the heart. I know He smiled, embraced me and drew me to His heart. His daughter, His servant, His leader. I felt His heartbeat. Yes, I now have that heart, which joined my other hearts in a prominent place on the wall. Constant reminders of new life and His words, “Go love them for Me”.
This was just the beginning! A year later, at the Walk to Emmaus, kneeling before the cross, letting His Spirit fill my soul, we worked through letting go, forgiveness, cleansing . . . being still. . . He whispered again, “Remember when you said you don’t want to work with the brokenhearted, merely with what’s positive? You said yes to work with Me, serve, love for Me? Well, My work is with the brokenhearted.”
My heart broke. Shattered as I fell to the floor weeping. Now I was ready.
The journey of creating in me a heart for humanity could now begin. I had to see where I was, who I was and who and what He asked me to be. I have always been this girl, created for all that lies ahead. God would strip away the years of marring life had laid on me and a pure heart of love would emerge.
Slowly I am learning what this means.
It’s more than a choice or an attitude. It includes respect for others regardless of color, race, gender, religious belief, age, ability, socio-economic status, political and mental health challenges. It’s discovering your hidden prejudices and biases. It’s weeping with a neighbor through their pain. It’s doing without your comforts to ease a stranger’s discomfort. It’s waking in the night, physically hurting, called to soul-prayer for someone in need.
A heart for humanity is about being. The doing is merely an outflow. A miracle!
“For this is the message that you heard from the beginning: love each other.”
1 John 3:11 (CEB)
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https://www.internationalschoolofstory.org/voices-of-hope-memberships/
