February clouds press close to the trees, a canopy of white erasing color and texture from the canvas above. It’s been a couple weeks of deep grief—a deep and unexpected grief. Because that’s how grief is. It comes and goes and sometimes it unexpectedly hits hard when one finds themselves alone with a quiet moment. Yet, even in the middle of this blur and overwhelming heartache, I am finally driven to those thin, sacred pages. There in Isaiah my eyes catch sight of a brave unveiling of God’s heart. The story unfolds of a vineyard that is planted with intention and loving interest. I see here a glimpse of my Father’s purest desires, His beautiful expectation that the vineyard He planted with care and delight would bring forth good grapes. But it doesn’t. It brings forth wild grapes. I read on and my heart beats quick, my breath catches in my throat as the next words hit hard.

“Judge, please, between Me and My vineyard.
What more could have been done to My vineyard
That I have not done in it?” (Isaiah 5:3-4)

My Father’s words pound in my chest, my heart is crushed. This one question reverberates against the storyline of my life. What more could be done for me that God has not done it? How much more love could He give that He hasn’t already given? Why then do I still turn away? Why then would I ignore His outstretched hand? Why would I still chase after satisfaction in things that ultimately serve to my detriment?

Here I see my Father’s heart—bleeding, crushed.

And I cry.

~*~

I cry after I attend a meeting and hear those heart-wrenching stories from every person in the group. I am overwhelmed at how similar they are to pieces and parts of my story—parts that none of us asked for or signed up for. I cry as I watch as people I love, people I care about ultimately destroy themselves. I feel helpless. I feel a need for a sacred justice, a desperate desire for things to be set right. I feel grief.

This question persists on into the storyline of others who are intertwined into my own story. What more could be done for many of these broken and hurting people that has not been done?

My heart breaks deeper. I feel a tiny fraction of God’s wild grief. Images flash before my mind. In my mind’s eye, I see all of humanity destroying themselves in their search for something that satisfies, and it inevitably destroys all those around them in the process. I see those I love destroying themselves in various addictions, still others destroying themselves in their own hurt and trauma, destroying themselves in self-seeking and a desperate attempt at self-preservation. But this self-preservation is really self-destruction and why are we all so blind to this truth? I see all the people on the streets of every city, many of them entirely brain dead as they destroy their very existence with substances and drugs. I see life after life choose their own detriment in a desperate attempt to satisfy and save themselves.

The tears burn hot. These all are God’s people, God’s chosen vineyard. Humanity reels in pain, is completely broken. But God’s pain is just as wild. He watches His delight, His heart’s desire destroy themselves to utter demolishment. His words are heart-wrenching.

“What more could have been done to my vineyard that I have not done in it?”

How much more love could I give that I haven’t already given?
How much more mercy and grace could I bestow that I haven’t poured out already?
How much more could I offer, could I give, that I haven’t already given?

God’s grief is wild.

I pause and I further trace the passages in Scripture where God’s heart beats clear. I reread God’s tender love for Israel, how He taught them, sustained and supported them, adopted them as His own flesh and blood. And yet, still they turned away seeking after immediate gratification, seeking after something that would satisfy their own selfish desires.

God’s heart is laid bare.

“I taught Ephraim to walk,
Taking them by their arms;
But they did not know that I healed them.
I drew them with gentle cords,
With bands of love,
And I was to them as those who take the yoke from their neck.
I stooped and fed them.” (Hosea 11:3-4)

My eyes follow the words across the page and once more I catch a glimpse of God’s wild grief, His unfathomable love. It’s an anguished cry, a desperate plea for God’s people to lean in and allow Him to love them.

“How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, Israel?
How can I make you like Admah?
How can I set you like Zeboiim?
My heart churns within Me;
My sympathy is stirred.” (Hosea 11:8)

Hearts bleed. God’s heart bleeds. I can’t imagine the weight of His heart as He gives all the choice to choose—and many choose the very things that destroy their own existence. I can almost feel the pounding pulse in His veins as He cries, “How can I give you up? How can I bear the thought of living without the very ones my heart delights in?”

This truth is overwhelming. He’s given His last breath, His entire existence. He’s given every beat of His crushed heart, every fiber of love, every pulse of life. Why then, do we still reject this love? Why do we turn away and choose instead the detrimental things we think will satisfy our deepest longings? Why do we chase after things that are cheap, ignoring the one thing that has infinite value?

I am shaken by this fierce kind of love, this love that pursues till the very end. Though His grief may run wild, though His anger may burn against the hurt and destruction of sin—His hand is outstretched still. His heart is laid bare as He fully lives out a perfect blend of mercy and justice, as He sits as judge to make things right, yet lives with open hands and an open heart.

“For all this, His anger is not turned away,
But His hand is stretched out still.” (Isaiah 9:17)

I see His outstretched hand, His heart burning in deepest desire, His love that cannot be contained. God reaches toward humanity. He offers His heart, gives the deepest part of Himself.

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her,
Will bring her into the wilderness,
And speak comfort to her.” (Hosea 2:14)

“The LORD has appeared of old to me, saying:
“Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

How could we underestimate His love? Why do we cling to doubts and falsities regarding the heart and character of God? Why do we persist in living as if God were not truly good, as if God didn’t delight in us, as if His love isn’t enough? Why do we live as though His heart didn’t beat for us, as though His every breath were not given for us? Why do we persist in living as if the heart of God has lost its pulse?

“For the LORD takes pleasure in His people;
He will beautify the humble with salvation.” (Psalm 149:4)

The heart of God has not lost its pulse. The heart of God is not so hard that it does not break with grief for the ones He loves, the ones He delights in. The heart of God is not cold—it burns with a love so fierce that even death itself cannot extinguish its fire. The heart of God is beating—beating a steady, powerful pulse.

“The LORD your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17)

I have no words and perhaps all I should say is thank You.

Thank You for loving so fiercely even in Your wild grief. Thank Your for Your radical love that breaks through the barriers of brokenness, that persists even in the grief of hearts that turn away from love, hearts that bleed to death in their own anxious pursuit of blind satisfaction. Thank you that Your hand is not shortened that it cannot save. Thank You for pursuing till the very end.

Father, teach my heart to make its home in You. Teach my heart to beat in sync with Yours. There is no other way, no true existence apart from this. Deepen my desire for You. Father, give me Your heart.