Virus of the Heart

A CURE FOR THE SICKNESS THAT AILS US ALL

As the sun peeks through the curtains of the window and meets my eyes, I know it is time to start another day. I dread this moment every morning. What will the day bring? It has been a week in the hospital already, but I can’t find any relief from the pain. As my eyes slowly open, the shine that once came from within them can now only be seen by the reflection of the sun. No longer eager for living, but rather worn down with evidence of deep despair. 

How did this happen? Why did it get this far? Will I ever be cured? 

The thoughts come flooding back. In my mind, I travel step-by-step from the beginning, trying to figure out how I got to this point. It was only a thoughtless comment, but it became so much more than I ever expected. I can’t get her words out of my head. They’re on repeat all day long. It was that moment – a single conversation – that sparked an angry fire inside of me. 

Does she even know what she did? How can I get revenge? Her words cut deep. Do my words have the same power over her? 

One moment. One conversation. One new infection. How easily the virus spreads. 

Of course, I heard about the virus, but I thought I was immune to it. I preferred to dwell in ignorance rather than face the truth: I am weak and vulnerable, just like everyone else. Something that I took so lightly has suddenly become life or death. I’m slowly being consumed from the inside. What could I have done differently? Perhaps I was just destined to die this way. As they say, what goes around comes around. 

Then I remembered. 

On the day that I was admitted to the hospital, I met a patient who was being discharged. At first, I only saw him from afar, but even from a distance I could tell there was something different about him. As he got closer, still in a wheelchair, I could see that his body was weak. His bones poked at his sagging skin. His cheekbones were hard, as if he was a boxer who had been punched too many times. His hair was long and shaggy. He was disheveled, but not dismayed. His spirit was strong. There was light in his eyes. I wondered how I, too, could have that light again. 

We met in the hallway as our wheelchairs passed each other. The moment his gaze matched my darkened eyes, he asked the nurses to stop. They reluctantly agreed. Apparently, he had been doing this a lot over the past few days. After his recovery, but before he was discharged, he asked to stop and talk to every new patient that he passed by. I guess I really did look that hopeless. 

Our meeting was brief. He explained how he, too, had caught the virus. It was a memory that he kept hidden inside since childhood. It was something he held against his father that finally, inevitably, spilled out. It exploded into something he never meant it to be. 

That’s the problem with the virus. It’s never what you expect it to be. 

But he beat it. He conquered it. He survived. And so, on his way out the doors of the hospital, he wanted to tell everyone how they, too, could have life again. Although the illness seems hopeless at first, that’s all it is. It only seems that way. And he was living proof of it. The virus could be beaten. The heart could be healed.

Although the illness seems hopeless at first, that’s all it is. It only seems that way.

He explained how he tried every treatment, but it only made him weaker. He tried to ignore the problem so he shut himself in. He wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to know the truth of who he really was. None of the things he tried could heal the wounds that were deep inside of him. With each passing day, the bitterness spread throughout his body. It consumed him and he could think of nothing else. Every day brought him closer to his death. In his desperation, he admitted himself to the hospital to find the cure. 

But it wasn’t the treatment he wanted. 

The doctor told him it was one of the most contagious diseases in the world, but also one of the most curable. He explained that the only way to beat it is to spend two weeks in isolation with the person whom he was bitter against. Nothing else would do. Everything else would only kill him faster. The choice was his: life or death? 

Experience proved that nothing else would cure him. Deep inside, he knew he had to take the treatment if he really wanted to live. So, he admitted himself to the quarantine. His father – completely unaware of his own son’s bitterness against him – was brought to the hospital. As they entered Room 612, neither of them knew what the next two weeks had in store. The wounds were deep, but they could only be healed by bringing them into the light which seemed to shine so brightly on the sixth floor. 

The first few days were the most painful. Confusion, anger, regret. It all came to the surface as accusations unfurled. Day six was silent. On the seventh day, something started to change. The patient realized he was no better than his father. He could see that his own bitterness made him equally as guilty. In that moment, his heart started beating again. It wasn’t the raging heartbeat that he had before. No, this was something altogether new. It was as if his cold, dead heart had been made alive. He didn’t want to hold any bitterness against his father anymore. The change inside drove him to break the silence. He forgave his father and asked for reconciliation. The virus inside was subsiding. 

On the fourteenth day, the doctor discovered the virus had completely disappeared from the patient’s body. In the meantime, the father had become immune to the virus. Apparently, the treatment worked, and he wanted everyone to know it. 

When I first met him, I thought he was crazy. His story didn’t make sense to me. 

How can anyone survive this virus? The pain is too deep. The treatment is too difficult to endure. He just got lucky. I’ll never make it out of here alive. 

So, I ignored him. I wrote him off as one of those “special cases,” and told myself that I am destined to succumb to the virus. Really, how could any part of his story be true? 

But now, as I replay the conversation from my hospital bed, I’m starting to wonder if he was right. Maybe I should try the treatment. After all, nothing else seems to work. What do I have to lose? 

I now know what I have to do. The choice is mine: life or death?

“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:31-32, ESV