“Missy, please open the door so we can talk,” pleaded her mother.

“No. I don’t want to talk to anyone ever again,” came the emotionally charged response, accompanied by a shoe thudding against the door, muffled sobs and occasional outburst like: “I hate boys, I’m through with dating, and I am never coming out of my room.” 

A couple pints of ice cream and a few days of sulking later, Missy was finally ready to talk. Her wise mother was able to guide her through her first broken heart episode and explain to her that love hurts.  She read her this quote from C.S. Lewis:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable

History is replete with examples of broken-hearted world changers. Some of the greatest world changers died as martyrs. In fact, it is rare, if not impossible, to find a Biblical hero who did not experience major loss or rejection.  For example, Elijah was so rejected after doing great miracles to save his people from apostasy, that he struggled with depression. The Bible says, “the word of the lord tried” Joseph, as he awaited his opportunity to save his people. Then, of course, there was Jesus, who was underestimated by his brothers, misunderstood by his disciples, used by the public, falsely accused by the elite and lynched by a coalition of politicians – and he came to love and give his life for all those people.

This concept has been captured in proverbs like: “no pain, no gain” and “no risk no biscuit”. Life teaches us that we can’t ski without risking a journey high up the mountain. Furthermore, we can’t ski jump without taking even bigger risks. And those who do ski tricks or win ski competitions must take enormous risks. That is the price of living large. 

So, the more we love, the more we risk being heartbroken. The only other option is a bland cloistered existence that ultimately ends in lovelessness. Understanding this gives us courage to get vulnerable one more time, because it is worth the risk of going through a heart-broken episode in which we say, “never again.”

Ironically, one of the least risky and most rewarding love relationships one can experience is loving God himself. It is less risky because of God’s impeccable character and great grace. But God loves us in the deepest part of our being, so it is not always easy to get as vulnerable as He wants us to get. It feels like the riskiest kind of vulnerability, but it is the safest and most rewarding of all.