It’s a prized possession. Heart-shaped and gold-filled. An old-fashioned locket engraved with a scrolled “B” for Beatrice (emphasis on the “at”). Mama’s. Inside a picture of her on one side and Daddy on the other – but you wouldn’t know it unless you knew it, they are so faded. My heart in a heart.
It was tied with a brown satin ribbon to the bouquet of my first daughter-in-love and then tucked safely back inside my jewelry box. So I thought. But when I looked for it a while later, it wasn’t where I thought I put it. Searched everywhere I could think of over the next couple of years. I was heart-broken.
The wedding of my youngest was approaching and I shed some more tears over the missing locket. Meant more to me than anybody else, but I wanted Mama there. You know? I mean, it’s just an inexpensive piece of jewelry but when you don’t have much left, it’s priceless. Mama’s been gone so long – fewer and fewer people remember her. I just wanted her there. So I prayed. But no locket.
In the midst of wedding preparations, I was also preparing for class at Duke Divinity. Summer Course of Study. Sitting on the deck reading and writing furiously. Checking off assignments. Next up, a paper on Soul Feast by Marjorie Thompson for Spiritual Formations class. And then, what began as a task to be completed, turned into something entirely different. My stubborn heart, caked over with years of convinced unworthiness and insignificance, burst wide open right there in the back yard.
It was a simple prayer exercise, really. Imagine Jesus is sitting with you saying, “Ask me for anything.” Dig all the way down to the essence of your whispered longings and ask him. So I sifted through layer after layer of self-reliance and self-assurances and stripped off a bunch of masks until I came to this: Jesus, love me. Jesus, take care of me. My heart’s desire – to be loved and cared for. Feels fragile to put that in black and white and hold it out – baby bird-like – for consideration and inspection and possibly crushing scorn. But there it is. I still remember the wracking sobs that shook my weathered-silver Adirondack chair. And then, Jesus began to pour pure love into my cracked open soul. It wasn’t my imagination after all – he was sitting with me. Right where he always is. My skeptical, guarded little heart heaved a sigh of relief and laid down its raggedy defenses. And just basked. My heart in a heart.
Same day, short while later, I was looking for some paperwork that had, at one time, been in my jewelry box. I picked up a clear faceted ring box with a brown satin lining. Strange, I thought, I don’t have a lot of rings and surely didn’t remember this one. So I opened it. And there it was. Hidden among folds of brown ribbon. Mama’s locket. Obscured and overlooked but right where it had always been. I accepted the locket as a love-gift that day. From my beloved Savior. What was lost had been found. And it was borne down the aisle once again on the bouquet of my newest daughter-in-love.
It’s hard to know what another person carries deep inside. What fragile bird of longing or pain or disappointment. And it’s hard to know who to trust with all that pathos. All I know is that somebody is sitting right there. Right now. He’s real. He never budges. And he has your heart. In his heart. Selah.
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