I am reading a book called Broken Open.  The author, Elizabeth Lesser, is the founder of the Omega Institute, which explores all brands of personal and relational growth. One time she was finishing up a workshop and a doctor came to thank her. His career was founded on precision, methodology, and intolerance for mistakes. When his hands were elbow deep in a patient's blood, their life depended on him in a way that would brook no quarter for emotion. But forty years of pummeling his feelings into a locked chamber was costing him dearly. He was close to a spiritual aneurysm. 

"I cleave hearts for a living. But you cracked mine open in a much more profound way." Expressing gratitude was unsettling for him, as was vulnerability. 

"Would you like to come watch me do heart surgery?" he blurted out. 

Elizabeth recognized this unheard of opportunity. A few weeks later she slipped her arms into a sterile gown and stood next to a prominent surgeon in his element. The crowded room was packed with nurses and doctors who worked elbow to elbow as they lowered the woman into sleep, slit her chest, secured her breastbones with clamps, and began the meticulous process of replacing limp arteries. The sight of her small heart, valiantly beating, flanked by two lungs working in tireless synchronicity moved Elizabeth deeply. Here was the queen of organs, ordinarily hidden every hour of every day of every year, guarded by winged ribs lest she be wounded. Yet when the bones were pulled away she was defenseless even as she chugged faithfully. 

After the surgery, Elizabeth walked in a daze, imagining the beating hearts hidden a few inches below the designer jackets and trendy pashminas. Everyone had one. But they seemed oblivious to the tenderness of its fidelity. 

I wonder what would open up if we had windows in our chests, and we could see the exquisite and precarious beauty thumping there. Probably all of our cutting remarks would be lost in a moment, as we behold the miracle of the human heart beating before us.