My life was perfect. I was a stay-at-home mom of two perfect boys. My husband was successful at his work. I volunteered at my children's school, I volunteered at my church, I was in a mothers' prayer group, my family said I could bake really delicious chocolate chip cookies most of the time, I loved writing and most of the time had some writing project going on, I prayed, I read my Bible, I exercised, I ate right and made sure everyone in my family ate right. Each day I tried to model my life after the Proverbs 31 woman who was my role model.
 
In my endeavor to become like the Proverbs 31 woman, I read her description in the bible several times and underlined the phrases that struck me. Her worth exceeds the worth of rubies. She is hardworking, organized, compassionate, creative, wise, strong, and takes care of the needs of her family. She develops her God-given talents, is financially savvy, and is always ready to meet the need of any situation. To top it all, she is not a fashion disaster and makes sure her family isn’t one either. Strength and honor are her clothing.

In other words, she is perfect, and I wanted to be perfect like her and had been trying my best to be her. Whether I was baking chocolate chip cookies or teaching a Sunday school class, everything about me and everything I did had to be perfect. Every once in a while, I took stock of my life and felt happy about how I was doing. My family was perfect and so was I.

But my pursuit of perfection was washed away by the raging Iowa River. The flood that devastated many parts of Iowa in the summer of 2008 extensively damaged my neighborhood and the house that my family called home. We moved into an apartment inside our church. Suddenly my perfect life seemed anything but perfect.

Everything was uncertain in our lives. We did not know how long we would have to live in the church. We did not know what was the best option for us financially—to rebuild our old home or buy a new home in a neighborhood far away from the river. The idea of living in fear of another flood in the same neighborhood did not appeal to us. But could we afford to move? Although we surrendered everything to God, there were still moments when anxiety crept in and we felt afraid of facing the future.

The church apartment we were living in had two nice bedrooms. We used one of the bedrooms as a storage space to keep the few belongings that we had salvaged from our flooded home. Pretty much everything in my house was destroyed by the flood, but the few possessions we saved were now packed in plastic storage boxes.

One day, I found myself sitting on the floor, resting my back against the wall, and surrounded by storage boxes. I wanted to pray but no words came out of my mouth. I knew I had a lot of things to say to God, but I could not say a single word. I looked at all the boxes surrounding me and suddenly it struck me that this was what my life amounted to now—a bunch of plastic boxes.  I thought about how my husband and I had come to America from India 11 years ago with my 18-month-old. All our hopes and dreams about living in the beautiful country of America were now reduced to a few boxes. I don’t remember if I cried, but I do remember feeling very sad. Then I heard this verse on the radio beside me: “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” Psalm 34:18

God was telling me that I had a broken heart. He looked beyond my appearance and saw my heart. God was making a diagnosis and telling me the truth. But God was so gracious in the way he delivered my diagnosis: Having a broken heart is good because he is very near to me now. Maybe if my heart wasn’t broken he wouldn’t feel near to me, so to have a broken heart is to have a good thing.

It was hard for me to believe that I had a broken heart, but I could easily accept it because I know God always speaks the truth. I felt that I was unable to pray because I first had to acknowledge my brokenness to God. Only Jesus could heal the wounds on my heart. I had to tell him my need for him and the necessity of my utter dependence on him. It was not hard for me to do that even though I did not understand my brokenness completely.

Many days later, I asked Jesus, “Why did I end up with a broken heart? Wasn’t I the picture perfect Proverbs 31 princess who tried to do everything perfectly?”
 
I realized that every time I had an uncharitable thought about another person or spoke an unkind word to someone, I was breaking my own heart. Every time other people hurt my feelings with their words or actions, my heart was being broken. Every time I was disappointed and I didn’t take it to God, I was being broken. Every time I did not forgive, my heart was broken. Every time I did not trust my Savior completely, my heart was broken.

Over time my heart had taken many hits, and now it was in smithereens. The concept became clearer when I read something written by one of my favorite singers. Describing why she wrote a song, she says that our hearts—like paper—are very fragile and delicate. Just as paper gets crumpled and scribbled on, our hearts take the brunt of the harshness, insensitivity, and impurity in this world. The remedy, she says, is found in Proverbs 4:23: “Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life.” It is only when we invite Jesus to write upon our hearts with his love are we completely saved and healed.