Broken Hearts Mended with Hope

Shane Price no longer looked in the mirrors.

Not out of fear of what he would see but because he no longer thought they were showing anything of note.

The divorce had been officially concluded a year ago, and since then, he had just drowned himself in work and the incessant treadmill of his cleaning company. Vacuums, bleach, repeat. There was a sense of security in sameness, even though the quiet of his apartment covered him like mildew. His son Caleb, eleven years old now, came to stay with him every other weekend. But those days were a flicker in the haze, but the rest? Why, the rest was dust and echoes.

Shane cleaned the sanctuary in the Ridgeview Church on Tuesdays. It was along his road for six years. Polished pews. Windexed windows. Whispered talks with God, he was not convinced that He was listening.

This Tuesday was different.

He was about to finish mopping near the altar when he heard the front doors creak. Church was to be empty. His first thought was a trespasser. His second probably was that Pastor Ronald forgot something.

But it wasn't the pastor.

A woman appeared, surrounded by a halo emanating from the light from the stained glass windows. She was in her mid-thirties, tall and robust like a redwood, but there was assurance when she walked. Her hair was braided in enormous plaits that rested on her shoulders, and she wore a worn-out hoodie with "New Hope Women's Shelter" stitched across its pocket.

Shane dropped the mop into a bucket splash.

"Hi," she said, with a warm and steady voice. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's— It's fine. Just wasn't expecting anyone."

"I'm Simone. Pastor Ronald told me I could stop by and leave flyers for the shelter'.

He nodded and did not know whether to put his hands somewhere. He wiped one on his jeans and held it out. "Shane. I clean the place."

Their handshake was fast, but something stayed, like the remnant of a song you almost remember the name of.

She went across to the bulletin board and started to post a flyer. Shane looked at her from across the room, awkward in the way of a man who had just had his heart move for the first time in years.

"You run the shelter?" he asked.

" I help run it," she said. "It's a community effort. We are interested in helping women come out of abuse or addiction. Or just... life's messes."

He nodded once again, but his throat closed up. The word 'mess' was now a familiar bedfellow in his own life.

At this point, as she was about to leave, she looked at the altar. "Beautiful space."

"It is," Shane said. "Not mine, though. I just keep it clean."

She smiled. Even that is still sacred work, you know.

Then she left.

And there was Shane, standing there, and all around him was the smell of lemon cleaner and something else that he hadn't felt for a long time.

Hope.

________________________________________

It began slowly—just glimpses. Simone is dropping off supplies. Simone is speaking at the church community night. Simone comforting a woman into her lap crying in the back pew after a service.

Each time, Shane said a little more. I joked a little more. Brazen to inquire her about her work, her story.

"I was a social worker," she said to him once over coffee, which had gone lukewarm in the church kitchen. "But I burned out. God continued nudging me towards lasses that others did not want to work with. Therefore, I opened the shelter with a friend.

"You ever regret it?"

She shook her head. "Not even on the worst of the nights."

Shane wanted to share his darkest hours with her. Caleb's question, "Why aren't you and Mom together?" Or when loneliness was like a swarm of hornets buzzing in his chest. However, he didn't. 

Instead, he offered to give the shelter a thorough cleaning at no cost. 

"Really?" she asked, blinking. "We are unable to pay." 

He claimed, "I didn't ask for money." 

Thus, a silent collaboration started.

Through laughing amid chaos and casseroles for the broken, Simone showed him a side of faith beyond sermons and fancy shoes. She took him to game nights at the shelter, where he learned how to lose dominoes elegantly from women with weary eyes and wary grins. Caleb also began to arrive. Like Santa Claus, he enjoyed distributing donated clothing and grew close to the staff's teenage boys. 

Nevertheless, Shane held certain aspects of himself tightly. The union. The dishonor. He once screamed into pillows in an attempt to make himself heard. 

The night that finally broke it all came next.

Someone had vandalized the shelter. 

There was graffiti all over the walls—damaged windows. The words "TRASH LIVES HERE" were spray-painted across the entrance in a furious crimson. 

At midnight, Simone called Shane, her voice trembling. 

He got there before the cops. 

Stunned, they stood together in the parking lot. Simone balled her fists. 

She said, "I don't understand this kind of hate." 

Her hand touched Shane's. "Do you want me to tidy it up?" 

As if he had offered her air, she gave him a look. "You would do that?" 

He gave a nod. "I'll take care of what I can." 

They collaborated until daybreak. Cleaning. Replacing glass that has been cracked. Applying gentle beige paint over brutality. 

Simone sat on the sidewalk, tired, once they were done.

Shane accompanied her, smeared in paint and grief. 

He remarked, "I don't understand how you stay so strong." "Most of the time, I can hardly contain myself." 

"I don't," she answered. "When I begin to believe the lies, I simply tell myself the truth." 

He gave her a look. "What is the truth?" 

"That today is not my worst. That even when my world fell apart, God still loved me. And that He still sees me even if everything goes wrong. 

The words sank deeply. 

Shane's tone faltered. "I feel like I've failed at everything." 

His hand met Simone's. "Are you not present here? You're making an effort. That is significant. 

Something inside Shane uncoiled in the gentle morning light. 

________________________________________

It took them some time to fall in love. It wasn't a romantic affair. The dishes were shared. The laughter returned. Over Caleb's homework, prayers were murmured. Slowly, two broken individuals dared to think they weren't irreparably damaged. 

Shane invited her to his family dinner at Christmas. His mother's eyes widened as she smiled and delivered a cherry pie. 

By Easter, Shane's heart was hurting excellently as Caleb called her "Miss Simone" with a shy tenderness. 

Simone turned to him one spring afternoon as they strolled along the path behind the church. 

"Have you ever had the impression that God allows us to live lovely lies until we're prepared for the truth?" 

He scowled. "What do you mean?"

Like... we act as if nothing is wrong. We act as though we are in charge. However, God eventually removes it. It gives us the truth. Sometimes, it hurts, but other times, it's the beginning of something positive. 

Shane took a while to respond. 

Then: "Yes. I once thought I was unloveable. That I damaged everything I touched. 

Simone halted her progress. 

"And now?" 

He grasped her hand. "I'm beginning to think that perhaps that wasn't the truth at all." 

________________________________________

They had a little wedding. Shane was initially housed in the Ridgeview sanctuary, where he cleaned himself. Simone laughed during the vows and wore yellow. With trembling pride, Caleb stood next to them, clutching the rings. 

No eloquent statements were given. "What God puts together, let no one tear it apart," said Pastor Ronald.

At one point, Shane had thought he was unworthy of notice. 

However, he came to the seemingly miraculous realization that God doesn't always mend the broken while he stood next to Simone, hand in hand, his son beaming up at him. 

He occasionally builds something even finer out of the broken. 

Furthermore, neither this existence nor this love was a lovely falsehood. 

The reality was lovely.