Scars
I'm sitting here avoiding working on my paper that is due on Friday, and staring out the window at a rain drenched city. I wonder what it is about rain that makes everything look so much clearer. After it rains, all the colors just seem brighter and everything just seems to have more focus to it. I wonder if that is like after a good cry when you can see more clearly the situation before you.
I'm in a kind of contemplative mood, and my mind is drifting back over things in the past. I have a scar on my toe from a pair of black high heels that I love. Unfortunately they do not love me back, and walking miles in them not only gave me sore feet, but also a scar to remember that time. It was my first Sunday in London, and I felt like I walked forever in my high heels to get to church. That scar is the price of my vanity.
I have a scar on my left pointer finger from making peanut brittle in 7th grade. The hot sugar landed on my finger and took the skin off.
I have a scar on my chin from falling off the monkey bars when I was 5. Butterfly band-aids and Mrs. Hall saved me from stitches.
I have a scar on my nose from when I was putting my light fixture back together my junior year of high school and the pane of glass broke.
I have matching scars on my shins both from falling down stairs. The one on my right shin is from falling down a set of stairs in D.C. The one on my left shin is from falling down a set of stairs in London.
And I have scars that no one can see or possibly know about. One of my favorite scar stories is the fall on the stairs in D.C. The security guards at the Dirksen Senate building sent me to the nurse who put a band-aid on my leg and gave me advil for the "pain" and an ice pack for the "swelling". I still chuckle to myself when I think about it as there was no pain or swelling to speak of.
The only problem is that she did not remove the dead skin flap. I had to remove it myself a couple of days later because otherwise the scrape would not have healed. It was just festering and not healing.
This is the way it is with the scars in my life that people can't see. They were like that scrape on my shin. I put a band-aid on them, and I called it good. But they weren't healing. You see a band-aid is only a temporary fix. If I would truly heal, I must be willing to remove the piece of skin that is allowing the wound to fester.
And that sucks...because it hurts.
I went to London last year feeling like I was doing fairly well. And then I felt like God opened every wound I ever had and poured rubbing alcohol on them. I was in so much pain, I could only cry out to God, and He gave me a couple of cool insights.
The first was a dream that I had. I was walking along a beach and the ocean was an ocean of pain, but Jesus was there walking between me and the pain. He told me that He would carry me through it and shield me from it.
The second was after I got back from London and was reading in Hosea. It says "Come let us return to the Lord; for it is He who has torn, and He will heal us; He has struck down, and He will bind us up." Hosea 6:1
God had to open my wounds because they were not really healing. They were just festering. This verse really spoke to me because it showed me that God is going to open my wounds, but He will also bind them up. If I would have healing of the deep wounds in my life, I must first allow God to open those wounds and heal them from the inside.
God opened up my wounds and the places in my heart and life that I was trying to keep shut off. He asked me to live life from the heart and sometimes that means going through pain. But I would rather endure the pain than live with a frozen heart.
God is so faithful, and His steadfast love endures forever. He always does what is best, even though it may sometimes hurt.
The healing is not complete. I still have a long way to go, some days (like today) it seems like it is farther than others. I trust God, though. He will carry me through the pain, and He is my shield and my strength.
I'm in a kind of contemplative mood, and my mind is drifting back over things in the past. I have a scar on my toe from a pair of black high heels that I love. Unfortunately they do not love me back, and walking miles in them not only gave me sore feet, but also a scar to remember that time. It was my first Sunday in London, and I felt like I walked forever in my high heels to get to church. That scar is the price of my vanity.
I have a scar on my left pointer finger from making peanut brittle in 7th grade. The hot sugar landed on my finger and took the skin off.
I have a scar on my chin from falling off the monkey bars when I was 5. Butterfly band-aids and Mrs. Hall saved me from stitches.
I have a scar on my nose from when I was putting my light fixture back together my junior year of high school and the pane of glass broke.
I have matching scars on my shins both from falling down stairs. The one on my right shin is from falling down a set of stairs in D.C. The one on my left shin is from falling down a set of stairs in London.
And I have scars that no one can see or possibly know about. One of my favorite scar stories is the fall on the stairs in D.C. The security guards at the Dirksen Senate building sent me to the nurse who put a band-aid on my leg and gave me advil for the "pain" and an ice pack for the "swelling". I still chuckle to myself when I think about it as there was no pain or swelling to speak of.
The only problem is that she did not remove the dead skin flap. I had to remove it myself a couple of days later because otherwise the scrape would not have healed. It was just festering and not healing.
This is the way it is with the scars in my life that people can't see. They were like that scrape on my shin. I put a band-aid on them, and I called it good. But they weren't healing. You see a band-aid is only a temporary fix. If I would truly heal, I must be willing to remove the piece of skin that is allowing the wound to fester.
And that sucks...because it hurts.
I went to London last year feeling like I was doing fairly well. And then I felt like God opened every wound I ever had and poured rubbing alcohol on them. I was in so much pain, I could only cry out to God, and He gave me a couple of cool insights.
The first was a dream that I had. I was walking along a beach and the ocean was an ocean of pain, but Jesus was there walking between me and the pain. He told me that He would carry me through it and shield me from it.
The second was after I got back from London and was reading in Hosea. It says "Come let us return to the Lord; for it is He who has torn, and He will heal us; He has struck down, and He will bind us up." Hosea 6:1
God had to open my wounds because they were not really healing. They were just festering. This verse really spoke to me because it showed me that God is going to open my wounds, but He will also bind them up. If I would have healing of the deep wounds in my life, I must first allow God to open those wounds and heal them from the inside.
God opened up my wounds and the places in my heart and life that I was trying to keep shut off. He asked me to live life from the heart and sometimes that means going through pain. But I would rather endure the pain than live with a frozen heart.
God is so faithful, and His steadfast love endures forever. He always does what is best, even though it may sometimes hurt.
The healing is not complete. I still have a long way to go, some days (like today) it seems like it is farther than others. I trust God, though. He will carry me through the pain, and He is my shield and my strength.
Comments
Post a Comment