X-Ray to the Heart

From the corner of his eye he saw Norah watching them. Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm. He longed to comfort her, but he could think of nothing to say. He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart: for Norah's and his own.

For our book club this month, we chose The Memory Keeper's Daughter, by Kim Edwards. It's the story of a doctor who has to deliver his own twins due to a blizzard in the early 1960s. One of the twins, the daughter, has Down syndrome. The doctor has his nurse take the baby away to an institution, but instead she raises the girl herself. The mother has no knowledge of any of this, but is instead told the second baby died.

While the doctor's actions are shocking, we learn the reasons behind them, and that essentially he wants to protect his wife from the pain his own mother experienced raising a child with Down syndrome. However, his decision ends up creating a different kind of pain for each of them and their marriage.

I didn't love the book. I found it to be largely unrealistic and depressing. Edwards tries to construct a redemptive ending, which I won't give away, but I didn't care for it.

What I think is interesting, though, is the doctor's character. He is constantly trying to shelter his wife from pain. He also is always trying to solve her and their son's problems. And it's a battle that can never be won.

Sometimes, I find myself trying to figure out what is wrong with people (and myself)--what hurts them at their core, the real issue they (or I) struggle with. I reason if I can figure that out, then I can solve the problem.

It's so ridiculous to think about. Why is accepting our brokenness and realizing we can do nothing ourselves to fix it permanently so difficult sometimes? Why is admitting we can't solve the brokenness of others so hard? Why is it so much easier to offer advice or suggestions that are temporary and limited, rather than to accept the reality that we can never make things completely right?

Instead of trying to solve the problems of others (or myself), I just want to love people because of the bond we share as broken humans.

I'm so thankful we have a God who does have an "X-Ray" into our hearts, knows our brokenness, knows we can't fix it, and sent Jesus to make things completely right. I'm also thankful that I'm learning to unclench my own fist that used to hold so tightly the pain, heartache, mistakes, shame, and guilt that make up my own brokenness.

I think there is freedom in realizing we don't need to rely on our simple, short-lived cures for our broken hearts because there is a permanent redemption waiting for us.