Hearts Made Of Stone

What breaks your heart? When I was a little kid, there was this song called,"Hearts Made of Stone," or something like that. I almost always remember some part of the lyrics to songs that I suppose came at some formative period in my life. Anyway, it went like "Hearts made of stone will never break...."

I went with Rachael of CCO to this ministers forum on Ward Parkway--beautiful Ward Parkway. Quite a contrast with 31st Street. There was an interesting question poised, "What breaks your heart?" Most of the meeting was introspective. The Pastor spoke of Jesus in the temple overturning tables and somewhere the question--rhetorical as I remember. When I came back to the Center, Ms. B sat outside in her wheelchair smoking of course with maybe three bags of groceries from the nutrition class beside her. She was waiting for her ride. I had to resist the tug to pick up those bags and wheel chair and wrestle them into my little truck and reverse the procedure after the ten mile drive, but I did! You see, it breaks my heart to see my almost chain smoking sister captive to this habit even though it is slowly robbing her of health a little bit at a time.

Little lady was waiting at the door. "Can I have some gym shoes. Mine are wet and they stink." We went inside for shoes only to be bombarded with accusations that she had called staff unconscionable names. It breaks my heart when trust and respect for another is long g o n e because we have long since lost self-respect.

Before we could settle the shoe issue, I learned that Ms. T. had taken a sack full of knitting yarn with my non-existent consent and had taken off. I took off too and found her sitting on the curb at the "pawn shop" her back to me and before the Mayor of 31st could cue her in I had the bag and was at my car door. It breaks my heart that those I love and would give my last to would feel that it's ok to steal from me--themselves.

It almost Mother's Day. Last Mother's Day I received a call in the pre-dawn. It was my son calling from the emergency room. He had been assaulted and robbed. He's like his mother. There was 1.00 in his billfold. My son was 600 miles from home and there was absolutely nothing to do but pray for our peace and that his injuries were not permanent. God granted me enough peace for the day or two and then I began to unravel. I could hear his screams in my imagination and see his assailants kicking and beating him. I hurt for him. Then, I remembered how, in my Christian tradition, God forsake His son to a beating....It breaks my heart.

Ms. B, Ms. Little lady, Ms. T. the assailants--all hurt people. In the words of the Bee Gees, "How do you mend a broken heart; how can a loser ever win....
I have some ideas and know that inner healing is real and possible. That keeps me on 31st Street.