I'm reading a book about being a "highly sensitive person" in this world. We kind of joke about it around here, "oh, it's because you're a 'highly sensitive person,' my husband will say when I get overdramatically upset about something inconsequential. I joke about it because it's true. Being a sensitive person, highly or not, can be hell in this world. I learned it can be the death of you in the Church-- I wish someone had told me this-- but perhaps I did what I was supposed to do for a time, and then got out to save my soul.
It's a dangerous world for people with passion and heart. Maybe that's why I love Elvis so much, and others like him who got eaten alive by the world. I've often felt like I found myself in someone's jaws just in time to get the hell out of there. When I gave birth to my daughter, I had this overwhelming sense then and ever since, that my heart was now outside of me, vulnerable to the world. It gets worse as she grows up, learns to drive and has a life away from me. Thank God she hasn't fallen in love yet! That could be the death of me! I "fell in love" for the first time at 15, and whereas now I see it as the first taste of the delicious feeling of loving and being giddy in love, at the time I felt like my heart was run over by a semi. The thought of watching my daughter get her heart broken for the first time sometimes terrifies me. Hopefully someone will remind me at that time that I survived my first broken heart and a few others and lived to tell about it.
Sometimes, when I've gotten hurt, I've said that I felt like I was walking around with several open cuts in a world full of rubbing alcohol. It's a tough world for us sensitive types. Others say sensitivity is a gift, but it's a gift with a price. I'm better at what I do: writing, caring for the hurting and the dying, comforting the bereaved, even preaching when I did it-- precisely because I am sensitive. But it also opens me up to severe pain and hemorraging. People can be rough, even mean. Meanness is not just for elementary or high school anymore. It's everywhere. That whole bit about playing nice, sharing, hold hands when you cross the street, and stick up for the underdog were lessons for little kids. Us grown-ups have a hard time listening to those lessons anymore, it's for kids. Just like "Love one another," "Treat each other like you'd like to be treated," and all that mamby pampy stuff Jesus talks about; we just don't take that seriously anymore. It's good Sunday School stuff, but it doesn't work for Board meetings or for Monday morning at the office.
But I can't help it, there's something in me that still holds out for love and kindness, even though I know I'm setting myself up for pain. I grew up with Jesus, and so I still think he wanted us to listen to what he said about how to live and act. He did mention, of course, that it would be dangerous, and he didn't shelter us from the fact that that kind of teaching and living got him killed, and would again if he were here in person. But I can't change the fact that I and my daughter are "highly sensitive people" and therefore we'll get creamed a time or two along the way. But I also know that in the midst of the danger, I catch glimpses of heaven on earth. My heart is stirred when it deeply connects to another human being, even though it opens me up to getting hurt again. It's what makes life worth living, this love stuff. Giving. Reaching out. Telling someone who doesn't know it that they're beautiful. Sure, there's the risk that they'll think you're nuts or "gay" or liberal or some other inflammatory term, but there's also the risk that you'll catch a glimpse of heaven on earth or make a friend that will love you well into eternity.
You never know. But proceed with caution.
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