It's not for the gaping wound of pride but for the small cuts and scrapes of pride that I need to have regular check-ups with the Divine Physician.
Every diagnosis from a chronic, manageable illness like diabetes or Crohn's disease to a life-limiting diagnosis of chronic heart failure or cancer challenges us to grieve.
If the English language is lacking one thing, it lacks adequate verbiage to describe love.
So, what are we supposed to have? A soft heart, open and vulnerable? A stiff heart, firm and steadfast?