The hurt shouldn’t worry you. The hurt is good. The hurt is an indication the wear and tear of living hasn’t stripped away the feeling.

You should only worry when it stops hurting. You should only worry when you feel nothing at all. You should only worry when the day after Christmas doesn’t kill you, when the turbulence 10,000 feet in the air doesn’t kill you, when the old photographs of your grandmother in her Kimono doesn’t kill you, when the thought of your mother and father dying doesn’t kill you.

You should only worry when there is nothing left inside of you to break; when there’s so much scar tissue laced around your heart and your soul, you couldn’t eat through it with a chainsaw. Then and only then should you worry.

Otherwise, you should be thankful for the hurt. You should welcome the hurt with open arms. You should smile with tears in your eyes and you should say, “Come here, old friend.” You should not pray away the hurt. Never pray away the hurt.

Pray for hurt you can take. Pray for hurt you can take without losing the ability to feel and to love and to cry and to laugh yourself to beautiful madness in the face of death that wants nothing more than to bury you.