A Life that Isn't Mine

Live because someone died for you.

About eight years ago on October 27th, 2015, I was given the priceless gift of life. After my heart transplant (which you can read about here), I’ve had to come to grips with the idea that my life is not my own. You see, eight years ago, someone died, and I got their heart. I don’t know who it was, I don’t even know if they were a boy or a girl. All I know is that the family of this precious, irreplaceable, kid made a choice to donate, and that saved my life.

Whenever October 27th comes around, I begin to think about my donor, and what their life may have been like had they lived. To me, my “heartaversary” isn’t a “happy” day. It’s also not a sad day. Heavy, is probably the appropriate word. I feel the renewed pressure of wanting to live for two people all over again. My life does not feel fully my own. Each year, I wonder:

How can I live a life worthy of the gift I have received?

The truth is, I can’t. No life, even a really good one, can become deserving of something so significant.

After my heart transplant, I had to attend cardiac rehab. One might think that the point of this is to strengthen one’s new heart. However, that’s not exactly what cardiac rehab is for. Instead, the goal is to help one become accustomed to the idea of not being sick. Since I could do very little for many years, I became used to not being able to run, play, or do any number of other physically taxing things that most kids do.

Unfortunately, it’s really hard to break out of this kind of lifestyle, even after you have become healthy (or at least healthier). With my old heart dead, it would be wrong to live like I hadn’t been given a new one.

Though I had been given a new life, my mind and body still needed some convincing. But why get a heart transplant if only to continue living the same way? And how terrible would it be to waste my new heart by failing to use it?

These questions have shaped my life, and I have struggled to live fully under the weight of their implications. But a gift, and its giver, are made more beautiful by our inability to earn their favour, no matter how much we want to try. I did nothing to earn my life, nor can I. All I can do is live a life of gratitude, which requires action. One of the first of these actions was in sending a physical letter to my donor’s family, from my family.

Like many others, I have learned that every second of life is like a drop of ink. Mine is limited, and messy, but capable of creating a letter of thanks to the one whose heart lives in me. Beats in me. What else can I do, if the ink I’m writing with isn’t even my own?

Even my ability to write such a letter, and live that kind of life, isn’t my own. It is also a gift. My gift is a heart, and the ink I’ve been given is time. So far, I’ve been given eight extra years, and I’ve probably wasted far too much of them. But I believe, that my inability to adequately say “thank you” reveals how valuable the gift is.

You may be wondering, “What does this have to do with me?”

Well, my brother/sister in Christ, I’m glad you asked. It appears that this entire post is a bait-and-switch to talk about my favourite person: Jesus. Who knew?

Just like me, you’ve been given something you did not deserve; something you cannot be worthy of; something impossible to earn. You were dead. Then, you were called by the voice of your Creator, to rise up and live. Not to live with your heart, but with the heart of your Saviour. The heart of the One that died for you. Your life is not your own. Every second is a drop of ink in your letter, a drop of blood Jesus spilt for you. How will you write it? It’s not your ink; it’s not your blood, but it has been given to you.

To continue my tradition of quoting my favourite movies, consider (if you will) Free Guy. The movie is about an AI video game character who comes alive and falls in love with a real person. He falls in love with the girl his creator loves. Once he realizes this he says:

I love you, Millie. Now maybe that's just my programming talking, but guess what? Somebody wrote that program. I'm just a love letter to you. - Guy

Similarly, the heart in me, and the love God has given me are not my own. Friend, you have been given the ability to love and to live, not from yourself, but from your Creator. We can now love what our Creator loves because we have His “programming” in us. His heart. We fail when we try to use our old hearts, they are dead. My previous heart is rotting in a lab somewhere, why would I try to use it?

Your life is a love letter to Jesus: don’t waste your ink.

Maybe you feel like this can’t be true; maybe your heart feels dead. You look around at the world, at the hopelessness, and you can’t see the light. Like me after my heart transplant, you have trouble living with the new strength you have; you forget the reality of your hope. You are trying to use an old dead heart when a new one is beating in your chest. But our old hearts have died. We must learn to stop relying on them.

You are called to live like Jesus, not <your name>. Allow the gift you’ve been given to change you. Though given something costly, you’ve also been supplied with the ink (time) to say thank you for it. That is good news. Unlike the world, you have hope; spread it. Your new life is eternal; live it. Otherwise, you risk never knowing the power you have in Jesus.

“To whom much is given, much is expected,” and we have been given the most valuable gift possible: Jesus. On our own, this “much” is impossible, but we have the life of Jesus in us, so anything is possible. No one is unlovable; nothing is hopeless. You will fail, just like me, but the Holy Spirit in you won’t. If we love like Jesus, we will also hurt with Jesus, but we will also heal like Him—both others and ourselves.

Our world will try to convince you that you are dead. It will tell you to set up walls to protect yourself. Is that what Jesus would do? No. And He lives in us. In Him, you are safe, your hope is secure, and your life is eternal. Like Jesus, the new hearts in us have an infinite capacity to love our enemies—to live for them or even die for them.

This is how we write our love letter to Jesus: we let Him live through us.

So, stop believing you are dead. You are as alive as your new heart.

And the hope, love, and heart of Jesus are very alive.

Write well.

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. — Galatians 2:20