Listen to the things that break your heart

I read it in an old magazine in the bathroom. One sentence that pulses over and over in my heart, "Listen to the things that break your heart."
I don't want to listen. I want to ignore. I don't want to listen, I want to push past. I don't have time.
I went shopping this morning, and between one corner and another I picked up a follower. A skinny, scraggly brown and white mutt. The typical small, delicate, almost wild-dog looking creature. And she decided she wanted to be mine.
Most dogs in Brazil ignore you. There are dirty, dingy ones all over, some looking sick and ready to die, others looking for a pack--but they know the deal: they are ignored and they ignore. Brazilian street dogs act like cats. I all of my jogging adventures, I've been chased by more cows than dogs.
In another life, at age seven, I thought I'd become a vet to save all the strays. Somewhere around age 17 I realized I only had one life, and not enough time: I needed to choose between saving animals or helping children. I chose children. But I still have a soft spot for dogs.
In the store shop window, I saw the reflection--the little dog following faithfully a couple steps behind me. I still ignored. I spoke under my breath, "Go away, I don't want to stop, I don't want to feel this now." I got copies, and no one questioned my follower. I finally sat down and looked her in the face: "Wrong time, little friend--wrong time--I am leaving."
I passed a dog food shop and bought some food--her ribs were showing. I put the food in a little corner and than ran to the grocery store. But a minute later, while in the milk aisle, she found me again. Dogs in grocery stores. My heart began to worry that she would stop following me. I began the casual glance behind me.
It wasn't until I crossed the street that I looked back and saw the dog almost get hit that I sat down, patted her softly, and said, "You can't do things like that--you are making me worry about you, and I can't have something more to worry about."
I walked briskly the rest of the way home, determined to not look back, to not worry, to not feel, because once I got to my apartment door, there was nothing else to do. And somewhere around the last corner it worked. And I put away my groceries in silence.
"Listen to the things that break your heart." I am a little overwhelmed right now, planning a wedding, planning literacy programs and Children's day celebrations for the Living Stones kids. Learning how to work through little annoying habits with my fiancee and finding I need to invest more in some key relationships that I want to last forever--but they don't last forever left on their own.
There are a million little pin-pricks to the heart every day, different "coulda-shoulda" or "what if" or just plain hard things. Listening to the things that break my heart makes me face my brokenness, but I want to think I have things all put together. I don't. And it hurt that I couldn't help that little dog--it hurt because I know there are so many other little dogs. It hurt because there was no one else to help that little dog. It hurt because I knew I could make a difference if I really wanted to--but I didn't have the time and in the end, it wasn't a priority. And sometimes it kills me that in making a decision to say "yes" to one thing, it means saying "no" to so many other things.
Deeper than that, it hurt because it reminded me I am leaving. This phase of my life is me getting ready to say goodbye to being single, goodbye to the life I've been living for the last 30 years, goodbye to the amazing people in my life who live in Brazil. It is saying yes to the man I love and the life I know God has for me, but it is still a hard step. "Listen to the things that break your heart."