I’ve had an accident-prone week when it comes to my hands. They’ve borne the brunt of small scrapes while adventuring with my boys, fatigue-induced kitchen mishaps… and a collision with a car door. Add to that the wearing effect of weather changes as our Australian winter turns into spring… and my hands have seen better days.
Of course, wounds require a range of treatments, ranging from a quick dab of antiseptic cream to a full-blown cast or bandages. My wounds are small but numerous, and this morning I needed to assess which ones needed a Band-aid and which didn’t.
“Where are the wounds?” I whispered to God this morning as I stood before the Dettol and plaster box in my bedraggled state. Then I saw it – inflamed and sore, the small cut from the kitchen knife that had been bothering me, unattended to, during the night. Why didn’t I do something about it yesterday?
Some of my emotional wounds also came to the surface in recent weeks. They were bubbling under there for some time before I realised the need to explore them. Sometimes wounds are just too painful… or (we think) not painful enough. We’re still living our life – limping along, yes – but we’re surviving, functioning… so why go there?
I’ve been through seasons of ‘gritting my teeth’ through woundedness, and seasons of hiding under blankets. I’ve pushed through hard times and cruised confidently through good. I’ve known ignorance and wisdom, foolishness and enlightenment. I’ve made poor choices, and better-informed ones. I’ve trusted in healthy people – and not-so-healthy… And I’m still here, cherishing every moment of this incredible journey. Getting what help I can, every step of the way.
God, would you reveal to me more of my wounds today? Help me to trust you to heal them, as only you can…
“…he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.”