I’ve got what you might call a bleeding heart. I’m so sensitive to the feelings of others that sometimes I wonder if I’m half Betazoid, like Deanna Troi. It’s not always a bad thing; you’ll want me in your corner when you’re going through a hard time. I’ll ache for you, I’ll cry with you, I’ll pray for you, I’ll lose sleep with you… But there are times when I wish my heart had more protective covering, that I didn’t feel the pain of others so keenly. And being so sensitive also means that I’m easily hurt, a fragile flower.
The actual definition of a someone with a “bleeding heart” is one who shows extravagant sympathy. Extravagant. That sounds like more than most of us have to offer. I can cry with you, but that’s not extraordinarily extravagant. If you want extravagance, go to the cross of Christ, to the Man with the true bleeding heart. His blood can do a lot more for you than mine.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 