What’s at the Top of Your Heart?

Yesterday, someone asked a simple question:

"What's at the top of your heart?"

I've thought about that question ever since.

My friends Matt and Becca are preparing to leave and serve as mission presidents in France. Yesterday was their farewell, and as I listened to them speak, one phrase stopped me in my tracks.

Becca talked about "struggling with the Lord in prayer."

And I thought, "Holy cow. Me too!"

Because if I'm being honest, I've spent a lot of time struggling with the Lord in prayer lately. Over my mental health. My physical health. My relationships. My work. The uncertainty that seems to be hanging over several parts of my life all at once.

I think sometimes we imagine prayer is supposed to sound polished. Calm. Reverent. Predictable. But some of the most meaningful prayers I've ever offered haven't sounded anything like that.

They've sounded frustrated. Confused. Heartbroken. Exhausted. They've sounded like questions. They've sounded like tears. Sometimes they've sounded like me giving God a piece of my mind. And maybe that's okay.

Actually, I think it's more than okay. I think God would rather hear an honest prayer than a performative one. I think He wants authenticity far more than perfection.

As I sat and listened yesterday, a thought kept coming back to me: Jesus struggled too. His entire mortal life was difficult. In Gethsemane, He pleaded, "Let this cup pass from me." On the cross, He cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

If the Son of God experienced moments of anguish, sorrow, loneliness, and pain, why am I so surprised when I do too? Why do I keep expecting my road to be easier?

Maybe part of mortality is that we all have our own Gethsemane moments.

Moments when we desperately want things to be easier. Moments when we don't understand what God is doing. Moments when we're trying to reconcile what we hoped would happen with what actually happened. Moments when all we can do is keep praying until our hearts finally arrive at the same place Christ's did: "Not my will, but Thine, be done."

That's not a sentence I arrive at quickly.

Sometimes it takes weeks. Sometimes months. Sometimes years. Sometimes it comes only after I've exhausted every argument I have. But when it finally comes, there's usually peace waiting on the other side. Not because the circumstances changed. Because I did.

And here's what gives me hope: Christ isn't asking us to walk a path He never walked Himself. He has already been there. He already knows. He already understands. When He says, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden," He's not speaking theoretically. He's speaking from experience.

He knows what burdens feel like. He knows what exhaustion feels like. He knows what heartbreak feels like. He knows what betrayal feels like. And He offers Himself as a companion through all of it.

Later, Matt spoke about the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. I've heard those stories my entire life, but I went home and looked them up and reread them again, and this time something different stood out to me.

The sheep wandered away. The coin was lost through circumstances outside its control. The son rebelled and left intentionally. Different stories. Different reasons. Different paths. But the same response from God. He seeks. He waits. He welcomes. The reason they were lost mattered far less than their worth.

That's comforting to me because there have been seasons of my life when I've been all three. I've wandered. I've fallen. I've rebelled. And yet every single time, God has remained the same—patient, merciful, and steady. Still reaching. Still calling. Still waiting.

I get emotional every time I read about the prodigal son returning home.

The son rehearses a speech about how unworthy he is. How he deserves nothing. How he has failed. And before he can even finish, his father runs to him. Runs. Not walks. Not waits. Not lectures. Runs! He embraces him. Kisses him. Welcomes him home. 

I love that image because I think sometimes we assume God is standing at a distance, arms folded, eyebrow raised, waiting for us to get our act together first. 

But scripture paints a very different picture. It reveals a God who moves toward us. A God who seeks. A God who runs. A God who loves us long before we've figured everything out.

So what's at the top of my heart today?

Gratitude.

Not because everything is easy. It isn't.

Not because all my prayers have been answered. They haven't.

Not because all my struggles have disappeared. They definitely haven't.

But because I've been reminded that I don't have to carry them alone.

I've been reminded that difficult seasons don't last forever.

I've been reminded that Christ understands exactly what it feels like to carry a burden that seems too heavy.

I've been reminded that even when I feel lost, He is still seeking.

Even when I feel exhausted, He is still inviting.

Even when I am struggling with Him in prayer, He is still listening.

And maybe most of all, I've been reminded how grateful I am to have a friend like Jesus.