Holding on by Heart: Is Loving Really Worth the Risk?

“Ouch!”

I yelped as a two-year-old elbow made contact with my arthritic hip joint. The volume of my outburst left me feeling a little silly. After all, while unexpected, was the jolt of pain really that intense? Well, actually, it was, but certainly not painful enough to declare my lap off limits to my squirrely, limbs-akimbo grandgirl with the blonde ponytail and extra-sharp elbows.

One thing, however, is certain: proximity can be painful.

Sometimes I feel it in my bones, but more often, I feel it in my deepest heart. I’ve learned that connection can feel just exactly like a collision: the dark possibility of betrayal; the gut-wrenching impact of rejection; the disappointment of unmet expectations.

For me, the ever-present risk that accompanies connection is disconnection—the coming and going of faces and names and the sad ripping of shared stories that had become the fabric of woven lives. The head-spinning presence of loss is part of being human, but awareness of the risk at the outset renders it no less painful or unpredictable.

Our co-workers, ministry partners, friends, and even our dearest family members come to us with no guarantees of permanence.

Proximity can be painful. Our co-workers, ministry partners, friends, and even our dearest family members come to us with no guarantees of permanence.

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The Apostle of Connection

Readers may be surprised to learn that in every one of his New Testament letters, the Apostle Paul voiced a natural human longing for connection. After all, pioneer missionaries and no-nonsense communicators of a controversial gospel are not often in a position to form close personal ties, and perhaps we’ve bought into the misconception that an independent self-starter and solid follower of Christ like Paul wouldn’t “need people.”

However, the record shows that whether he was writing from a remote location or from the confined space of a Roman jail cell, Paul derived joy simply from the sweet memory of fellowship with believers:

“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you,
Always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy,
For your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now.”

Philippians 1:3-5

Paul was fearless in the face of opposition to his message–and he was fearless in exposing his heart of love for the believers he had fathered in the faith. (Philippians 1:8)

“Fellowship in the gospel” is a fast track to intimacy, with the ties of shared hardships
and the bonding effects of ministry and travel. At the end of Paul’s life, he writes with
longing for the companionship of Timothy and mentions by name Mark and others who
served alongside him throughout his long and faithful career. (2 Timothy 4:9-11)

Prayer formed the vital link for Paul in his seasons of isolation as he asked God that the lives of his spiritual children would be characterized by right choices and pure motives fueled by an abounding love for God and steeped in sincerity that looks nothing like sentimentality. Paul lifted up specific names in almost every letter.

I wonder . . .
Did the names spring readily to his pen because they had been on his lips in prayer?
“Euodia and Syntyche at loggerheads again” (Philippians 4:2)
Prayer like sandpaper to smooth away the relational splinters.

“Tychicus, a beloved brother, faithful minister, fellow servant” (Colossians 4:7)
Prayer like a spotlight on the beautiful image-bearer and words of thanksgiving for that
sweet life.

Paul put his heart and even his life at risk, forming deep connections with fellow believers in spite of the real possibility of betrayal and abandonment. As believers today, we, too, are called to a life of deep and heartfelt connection as part of the body of Christ and within the families in which God has placed us.

Connect. Disconnect.

Joanne would have laughed at the idea that she was my mentor, but she embodied that title and that role so well that a day hardly passes without some thought directed her way–even though she was abruptly yanked out of this world over twenty years ago. We had stayed connected across the continent during my college years, and when I returned to Maine for work and then marriage and family, we managed to pick up exactly where we had left off whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Oddly, I still remember her phone number and would love to call her this very minute to talk about mothering, ministry, writing, books, and my grandkids. I miss her wisdom and her enthusiasm for the practice of a faithful following life. Our connection on this planet has been severed for good, and I mourn the rift even though my faith reassures me it will one day be mended.

The Connection is Strong

I was working in the garden the day one of my sons drove his loaded car down the driveway. He didn’t see me waving. His eyes were focused forward, and his mind was already halfway to his destination, turned (as it should be) toward his new, good life. Three more sons have flown as well, and my assignment today is to learn the rhythm of connect and disconnect with young men who have jobs, families, responsibilities, and deep ties that take them out of my orbit, but never out of my heart.

To be a mum is to be in relationship.
To be in relationship is to open our hearts to risk.
We love with abandon, holding on and being held, and in the early years of mothering, who even knows where one leaves off and the other begins? The organic bond between humans, between mothers and their children, between wives and husbands, and between friends has all the capacity of a living thing, for it is able to grow, to change, to adapt—if we’re willing to take the risk.

In an abundance of irony, my good husband headed down the long dirt driveway minutes after our son had gone. Hearing the truck’s engine, I looked up, leaning on my hoe and enjoying the sight of his searching…. For me!

Our exchanged waves completed a circle of connection that began with a table for two. Then, one by one, the chairs began to fill as high chairs, booster seats, spilled milk, and family prayers all came and went at their appointed times. The hands we used to hold every single day around that very same table come and go now, and there are new, small hands for us to welcome and love.

Seated at both ends, facing one another around the daisy bouquet in the center, our arms are not long enough now to reach across the expanse, to bridge the gap caused by the empty chairs.

Even so, the connection is strong. We are still holding on—but not by hand.
We’re holding on by heart.

Holding You in the Light,

To be a mum is to be in relationship. To be in relationship is to open our hearts to risk.

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