By Saturday night, I was all poured out. I have a system for allowing my living to renew me, so it’s actually rather rare that I reach emotional bankruptcy; but at midnight on Saturday, I laid my head down without having enough energy left to cry.

I was surprised to reach empty on Saturday, because I prayed to Jesus on Friday to meet me in my current state of emptiness, and refill me. I knew I needed to top off my tank before the weekend. But Jesus has his own timing, and Friday wasn’t on his radar. I warned Greg I feared my heart had sprung a leak, and he asked why it had taken so long? Did I think I could be emotionally present for my 2 best friends while they cared for their terminally ill Mothers, while helping my Godson’s campaign for equitable insurance coverage for military families with Autistic children, while helping a bit with a family wedding and baby shower, while making the girls costumes for upcoming school events (the girls and I are having serious artistic differences), WITHOUT springing a leak?

Why YES, yes I did. This isn’t my first trip to the Love-A-Friend Fair. I have SYSTEMS! Friday night I shared a meal with Kelly’s namesake. Her Momma passed away suddenly last month, and we finally found a moment to break bread. I’ve never lost a parent, and I just didn’t know what to say. I was afraid to say anything, for fear she’d see my leaking heart, and it would cause her pain. I was so grateful our lifelong mutual friend was in town for a family slumber party, because I needed the presence of a girlfriend. “Shelley! My heart! It’s leaking! HELP!”

She looked at me with her kind eyes, and said, “Yes. Hearts do that from time to time.” Just sitting with her, and getting to know her beautiful children, gave my heart more than enough to rise on Saturday morning. Shelley is a one-of-a-kind. You can’t be near her and NOT feel better about life.

Saturday was a gorgeous mix of waffles and children and sunshine, and it allowed me to hit the pause button for a moment. I felt my heart’s constant nagging, but I said, “STOP Heart! Plug those leaks today! I have children to hug!” The evening met me with a lovely dinner party. I was SURE the leaking would stop. Jambalaya! Champagne! Dear friends around my dining room table! These are my FAVORITE things!

But Sunday morning, I awoke with my heart bone dry. Church! Jesus will meet me there! He has to…it’s his house. Unfortunately, Sara wasn’t running on empty. In fact, she was filled to overflowing with piss and vinegar, and it was getting on the floor, and splashing on everything around her. After a loud and embarrassing attempt at a Sunday School drop off, she ended up in the Sanctuary with us, where she promptly fell asleep sitting straight up in the pew. I sang, I swayed, I prayed, I listened intently. Come on Jesus…say something into my heart. Anything! Fill ‘er up God!

But Jesus had other plans. By the time Communion was served, I couldn’t even walk forward. Greg looked at me incredulously, wondering how on earth I could skip a sacrament being served right in front of me. God was just going to have to meet me in that back pew, and love me in my brokenness, because I wasn’t going.

As Greg walked forward, Sara crawled into my lap and whispered over and over, “I’m sorry Momma”. I know baby…Momma knows. Then I threatened to carry her to the pulpit and dunk her in Communion wine. That girl NEEDS some Jesus. We were quietly giggling as Daddy returned to our seats, shaking his head at his devilish ladies. Sorry Daddy!

After getting home and inhaling a strong cup of coffee, I decided I needed to just keep showing up. It’s what I know; it’s what I do best. Jesus MIGHT meet me in my living room over coffee and the Sunday paper, but I suspected he MIGHT wish to meet me elsewhere. I grabbed some roses and stopped by St. Monica’s; our School’s Porter was celebrating her daughter’s first communion, and she asked me to come. BUUUUTTTT….she left out one small detail: I might stick out a little. I walked into a church filled with hundreds of people watching a large Mariachi band, waiting for a service to be delivered entirely in Spanish. 3 people flanked me immediately to ask if I was lost. I laughed out loud. “No, I’m here for Paula Cervantes. Have you seen her?” The band STOPPED PLAYING…and no joke, I think 300 hundred people turned around to stare at me. Luckily, one of them was Paula. HI MISS LORI!!! WE’RE OVER HERE!!!

You don’t know love until you’ve delivered flowers to a little girl in a long white dress, while being hugged to pieces by a Momma you simply adore. Paula is as much a part of our school as the name itself. We have spent years asking the state of each others hearts while pushing her janitorial cart through the hallways. Even though I feared I didn’t have the emotional space to walk into that church, I really, really wanted to. So there I was, on my knees in front of this beautiful family, wishing them God’s blessings on their special day. My heart warmed to pink. I felt alive. As I hugged Paula, I felt Jesus at my back, hugging me. Oh! Hello! There you are.

I stepped out into the sunshine and checked my phone: a friend from high school had been admitted to the VA Hospital, and would really love some company. And a candy bar. Any candy bar of any kind. I rushed to the store and filled up a bag we named “the diabetic coma”. You’d think a dark, lonely VA hospital might be the last place God would fill a heart…but here’s a little secret you should know: it’s the FIRST place God would choose to fill a heart.

Matt didn’t care if my heart was leaky. He didn’t care when I was 17, and lying in a bed post-stroke, awaiting the date of his open heart surgery, he certainly wasn’t bothered by my half-empty pitcher. I pulled up a chair, he turned on “The Godfather”, and we sat for hours, gently sharing our stories. I will say this for serious illness: it puts life in stark perspective. When time is limited, there is no time for idle gossip. We talked not of people, and very little of the old days. We had more hallowed ground to cover.

Jesus met me at the Veteran’s Hospital, and repaired my leaky heart. I don’t have a childhood home, and I rarely see my parents. When I need a touchstone, it’s my job to create it, even if a magic wand is required. But a friend whom has known me forever, and accepted my faults through good days and bad, that’s a homecoming, no matter how many nurses stopped by to check his infiltrated IV and adjust his oxygen. Matt has little living family as well, so spending time just being known was healing for both of us. In the end, it’s really all there is, in my humble opinion. I leaned over to hug him as I said goodbye, and my heart spilled directly into him. My spirit felt like a liquid I could simply gift away. This act of showing up to each others lives...what a priceless treasure that can be. (And now you have my secret of how my living renews me: As I intentionally allow others to access my spirit, it almost always returns to me more capacious than before. Simply noticing this phenomenon…the boomerang of the earth’s energy interacting with mine…does the trick.)

I drove home in silence, enjoying the warmth of a healed heart. Kelly, even in her grief on Friday, gave me a plant for the new house, and I was looking forward to planting it. As I picked it up off the porch table, I laughed out loud once again. Oh God, how very unsubtle of you: Kelly had given me a Bleeding Heart. Really God, where DO you find the time to theme your presence?

I like to plant things during times of trouble. I imagine my pain growing into something beautiful. This summer, it seems we shall witness the blooming of a bleeding heart leaking heart. Feel free to share your wisdom of how you repair your heart when it springs a leak. I treasure your stories as much as my own. And as always, Godspeed my dear friends. Godspeed.