That’s It

“My dead heart now is beating,
My deepest stains now clean.
Your breath fills up my lungs.
Now I’m free, now I’m free.”

-Charlie Hall

I drove along the dark West Virginia roads, listening to the radio. My son had fallen asleep – his sweet head mashed against his backpack in the backseat. I had turned the rear view mirror so that I could see his little body whenever we drove under a light.

I was glad for the drive. Glad for the time away from my house, my computer, and my responsibilities. Glad for the silence.

The next radio show started. A story came on NPR about a young girl who had received a heart transplant at age eleven. She had been sick for a very long time up until she got her new heart, and now, at twenty, she was reflecting on the day she had her transplant surgery.

The interviewer asked her, “What do you remember about post-surgery?”

Sarah answered immediately.

“Oh my gosh. The first moment I came out of the, um, medicine that they put me on I remember feeling like I was drowning – I’m going to cry thinking about it because I hadn’t, you know, breathed that good for so long… (her voice breaks, she is crying) and all of a sudden I felt like I was drowning in air – It’s just..it was really cool.”

Her mother was interviewed next, describing what it was like the first time she felt Sarah’s warm feet. Her feet had been cold before her new heart – but now life pumped effectively through every inch of her small frame. Her mother cried, too.

The rest of the story talked about their relationship with Sarah’s heart donor family. A young boy was murdered and Sarah was the one given his heart. She talks about her guilt. She feels that she was given such a great gift that she must do really well all the time. She must be extraordinary and make them all proud.

The story concluded with the donor’s family talking about Sarah and her guilt. “She’s already made us proud. Just being alive – and that’s it” said the donor’s brother in a thick accent.

That’s it.

I started to cry as the story ended.

I remember what it was like to first drown in air when I had my new heart – given to me by an innocent victim. I know the heavy burden of feeling like I have to be extraordinary to show that I am worthy of such an incredible gift. I know the guilt of feeling like I don’t measure up – that the One who provided a way for me to live couldn’t possibly be proud of me.

I carry anxiety around like a blanket – wondering each day if God is unhappy with me. Maybe He thinks I am a terrible mom – inconsistent and angry. Maybe He is irritated at my tone as I talk to my husband. How I spend my money. How I spend my free time. Bigger anxieties, too. Major choices I’ve made – what if He isn’t pleased with me? What if I haven’t heard Him correctly?

But that is not the character of God. He doesn’t want me to cower in anxiety and fear. He is not a stern Father waiting for me with a long list of my mistakes. No, He wants me to approach His throne with total confidence by the blood of Jesus (Hebrews 4:16), with a new heart in His beloved Son. He wants me to come hungrily each morning, crying, “Lord, I love the house where you dwell, the place where your glory resides” (Psalm 26:8).

I want to approach God each day without this fear or anxiety. I want to say to Him, “God, I can not breathe without you – Fill me up.” Then I want to drown in Jesus, diving deeply into His Presence, knowing that He is waiting with open arms, saying,

“You’ve already made me proud. Just being alive –and that’s it.”