Wounds are a significant part of our childhood. We fall down, scrape our knee, and then someone applies a bandage. The bandage is there to keep dirt or foreign matter out of the wound; to aid in the healing process. But as life progresses and we get older, our wounds are not so visible. Sometimes they are neglected and don’t heal properly.
For the past 3 years, I have been living with a bandage – a bandage to my heart. I went to Church, prayed, served others, participated in small groups, and participated in faith based book clubs; all the elements of moving foreward and seeking healing. However, the bandage was on, but the right medicine was not being applied.
After much nudging from God, I walked in the doors of a new Church, a new home, and found the medicine I was missing. The words, the music, the fellowship, was just the antidote I needed. It seemed everytime I walked in the doors, the message was directly for me, and I received the answers I desperately sought after. With every tear I cried, the discouragement, the anxiety, and the uncertainty was washed away, and the wound began to heal. Now all that remains is a tiny little scar. The scar a visible reminder of the pain, but more importantly, evidence of the healing.
Someone was said, “Not all scars show, not all wounds heal. Sometimes you can’t always see the pain someone feels.” But the good news is that “The Lord is near the brokenhearted; He delivers those who are discouraged.” Psalm 34:18