It seems to me that when I find myself struggling, whether that be with anxiety, loneliness, insecurity, or doubt, I can trace the problem back to a time when something was taken from me. I don't mean that it was taken from me right then. What I am talking about is deeper and more crucial to my being than a momentary embarrassment. I believe there are times in our past that contribute to our greatness and to our weakness. Talking about those times that contribute to our "greatness" is easier and more comfortable/acceptable. People smile as you tell them about the teacher who believed in you, the camp counselor who mentored you, or the day you were baptized. All of those things are vital ingredients to who you've become.
What about those times that contribute to our weakness(es)? For me, even though I am stronger and able to recognize when I am acting out of weakness, that weakness doesn't just go away. It's like the original perpetrator stole that piece of the puzzle from me. I believe Christ can patch the rip, tear, or gaping wound. However, just as he has scars on his hands and feet, I am left with a scar. This scar is usually a good thing that can contribute to "greatness". However, sometimes the scar burns like Harry Potter's forehead lightening bolt. Sometimes it is just too easy to hand control back over to the one who wounded me, instead of the one who healed me.
I confess I have more scars than most people. Some scars people know about. Some I haven't shared. I am getting closer to sharing the ones I've kept locked away. If truth is a pre-condition of freedom...I choose freedom, therefore, at some point I must also choose truth.
I don't understand why I have this intense need to protect the wound-givers. Yes, I am responsible for some of my scars, but the deepest ones, the ones only God can heal, the ones the devil seeps into...were not given by me. Yet, I am the one who continues to re-open the wound. Why is that? I don't sew, but I do know a little about the tools used. There's this little gadget called a seam-ripper. It does exactly what you think. When you make a hem or a seam you aren't pleased with, you take the seam-ripper and rip it out. I think that is what I do with the beautiful quilt that has become my life. Christ heals me with tender hands he carefully hand stitches my wound. I glorify him for his remarkable craftsmanship! Then somewhere down the line, something happens, something that fools my mind into believing the wound is still open. I cry out to God and ask how he could allow this to happen again, didn't he heal me? I bury my head and clench my fists...and that's when I realize I am the one holding the seam-ripper.
God is an excellent seamstress. He mends me all the time. I wonder, though, what would it look like to stop ripping out his progress? What role does truth play in that process? At some point, do I risk what others think, say, or do in order to be free?
These are all good questions.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I so relate to this. Having a mom that got a masters degree from the great University of Tennessee (or so she says) in cooking and sewing is nice because she can always fix my sewing needs specifically putting hem in my pants. It is funny because there isn't a trip to home that I'm not hauling a pair of pants home with the seam ripped out. While I know especially for my dark pants it is really hard for my mom to see to do hems she never complains she patiently works through my wiggling as I show her where I want the hem and then she sits down and carefully hand stiches a new hem in them. She could do it twice as fast on her fancy sewing machine but she says it is not as good; reminds me of God repairing our wounds He isn't going to half way do the job but he is going to give us the ultimate tender loving care although it still may hurt.
Something else I am reminded of; I've never had a hem my mom stiched in so patiently and without complaining come out on its own. But I often decide I want the seam a tad bit longer or a tad bit shorter. I usually will rip the seam out myself so that I can use the excuse it just came out instead of asking her to fix it. Once again she fixes it never complaining. I can't begin to count the number of wounds I rip open again after God has healed them, and I too wander why the heck do I keep doing this?
Awesome things to think about my friend here in this post!!!
dang. pretty good stuff here yank. i have thoughts, i think, but not sure how to organize them into proper sentences for ya. but i will say i appreciate the openness of the continued pain in healing. that's the biggest lesson i've learned is that everyday is another day of healing. and why in the poop do i like to bring it all up again at times...rippin it to shreds, hoping to be done with it. yet, for some odd reason, enjoying every time when "someone" bends down to pick me up, accept me, and begin sewing again. hmmm... good words CO!
Post a Comment