Most of us had special boxes growing up. They contained mementos, pictures, maybe a rabbit’s foot, special letters and notes, etc. The contents of a girl’s box might differ from a boy’s box in that a girl’s box may not contain as many rocks and sticks. And these boxes were usually off limits to anyone else in the house. They were private, special, and meaningful only to the owner. The trusted, privileged few were invited to see the treasures they held. We had to make sure that the people who saw the boxes – or junk drawers used as an alternative – would understand and appreciate what they beheld. No sneering allowed. No shoving it into the face of the owner.
My husband still has an old cigar box of treasures which has long held
the threads that keep his heart tethered to his younger years. His Navy ring is in there. Useless currency from foreign countries. Pictures.
Other things. Everyone knows it’s
there. No one disturbs it. I have somewhat of a treasure box. It’s the jewelry drawer of our dresser and it
serves double duty. It has costume
jewelry and special things. If someone
were to break into our house, they would find nothing of value for
themselves. There are a few quarters
that the boys gave me when they were little guys. I have some roses in there, dried and
flattened from my son’s graduation.
There are also some strange looking seed pods from a trip to Philadelphia. I couldn’t tell you what sort of tree bore them,
but they are unusual and I am hoping to someday plant them just to see if I
could get them to grow. These are a few
of my favorite things.
I don’t show my treasure box to anyone. It’s mine.
The items therein I keep also in my heart. Were I to open that drawer to anyone, they
would have to demonstrate a great deal of trustworthiness. I would have to know that they wouldn’t laugh
at and mock my things. I would have to believe
that they wouldn’t blab all over town what they saw. If I did show someone and they used the
contents of that box against me, shoving the contents back at me in anger, they
would be banned from ever seeing it again.
The friendship would be over. The
trust would be lost. I would chastise myself
for being so trusting.
But it has happened. Not
with my jewelry drawer, but the contents of my heart. I used to think, naively, that because I am
open-hearted and transparent, anyone nice would be safe. I think this idea came from a lesson I got
from my mama that I took to the wrong extreme.
When I was a little girl, I came to her one day with a
typical playground dilemma that occurs in the early years of any female. That afternoon at recess, I was playing with
a girlfriend. Another girl friend came along
and decided it was her turn to play with me that day. The two girlfriends proceeded to argue about
who got me. (Trust me, that was the only
time such an argument over my company had taken place.) I felt caught in the middle, not knowing whom
to choose. They were both my friends. For a third grader,
this was major stuff. That evening as I
recounted the events to my mama, I asked
her how I should choose. She said, “Why
can’t you all play together?” Simple,
yet so elusive even to adults. I will
never forget the lesson that day in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. From that point on, I did not seek to exclude
anyone for the sake of forming a ‘club’.
I have since made some poor choices, but my mama’s point was taken to
heart. (I did have a bestie in high
school who treated me like her possession.
That didn’t last long.)
I grew into an adult interpreting Mom’s lesson to mean that my
heart should be an open book for anyone to read. A badge to wear on my sleeve for anyone to abuse. And, boy, have I taken some brutal hits. There are a three people in mind who were
allowed to see the deepest recesses.
They were privy to the deep hurts.
My struggles. My weaknesses. My scars.
My wounds that still bled. And at different times, each of them has
taken my heart out and pounded it with a meat mallet, mocking and jeering and
using against me the very things that I entrusted to them. They left me bitter and deeply hurt. But I learned a lesson over the course of
several years. God had to tell me that I
could have many friends, but not everyone was to be trusted with those things I
held close. I was to be very careful –
not cynical – about who was allowed that kind of access.
One day several years ago, after one such episode, I was
reeling from the shock of a now former best friend doing just what I described. These beatings are never expected. That’s what makes them devastating. I vowed to harden my heart, steeling it against
future blows. No one, no
one would be able to do that again.
Ever. Because no one was going to
ever see me that vulnerable again.
I know I’m not alone.
Pretty much every human on the planet has experienced or will experience
a shredding or two. Some respond by encasing their hearts in iron. Some
become like Beast in “Beauty and the Beast”, forbidding access to that special
wing. Some people stay just as pliable
and open as ever.
The first two are not an option. God had to show me that. Yes, I had to learn to be careful, but
weather-sealing my heart wasn’t going to work either. I was standing in the check-out line at a
Christian book store not along after one of these situations, thinking about
and licking my wounds. The root of
bitterness was already finding its way deep into the soil and choking off whatever
life was left. Wouldn’t it be just like God to get my
attention right there as I casually picked up a volume of works by C.S. Lewis to read the back cover? The Lord talked right at me through these words
from Lewis' book, The Four Loves: “There
is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly
be wrung, and possibly be broken. If you
want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not
even an animal. Wrap it carefully around
with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in
the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become
unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable.
The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is
damnation. The only place outside of
Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations
of love is Hell.”
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