Wounds

A number of years ago, our middle child was playing football in our neighbor's backyard when he stepped in an ash pile. Coals from the trash heap were still simmering from the burning that had taken place earlier that week when Robert went after the ball and inadvertently (so he says) jumped in the middle of the mound. Quite surprisingly, one of the hot coals lodged in the top of his shoe under the tongue and began searing into his foot. Even today, he carries a nice pretty scar from the wound he received that summer morning. I'm sure he remembers the pain of the burn each time he looks at it, as well as the fact that he couldn't wear a shoe for months. And surely we all recall the numerous washings and bandaging and doctor visits in Savannah. But we also remember gathering around him as a family and speaking "life" into that dead place so he wouldn't have need of a skin graft, and then witnessing to a stunned specialist about the power of prayer and of a faithful God as the doctor looked in awe at the new bud of flesh breaking through that which was so dead.

We all have our wounds. I have them; you have them. Some are worse than others, but the fact remains: wounds happen and when they do, they hurt.

I have been carrying around a wound now for a year; one that goes deep, but not physically so. In fact, as the Psalmist says, it was "a man like myself, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship as we walked together in the house of God." Yes, I think those are some of the toughest wounds because they are so relational. I've considered the pain of this wound. It manifests itself in a number of ways: anger, resentment, a desire for revenge. And no doubt, it steals even my peace. Yes, wounds are painful. They rob the inflicted of wholeness.

But I'm reminded this Maundy Thursday that by His stripes, His wounds, I am healed. And as I approach resurrection morning, I also bring to mind that those wounds were not removed when He arose in His glorious state. In fact, they became part of His glory; even the way He made Himself known to His disciples when He showed them His hands and His feet. So could it be that my own places of injury are destined not as roadblocks, but to become glorified -- and just as Jesus was identified by His, so will I be identified by mine in my eternal life in God?

Yes, only an all-knowing, loving, compassionate God can take such woundedness, such pain, such brokenness -- whether it be a foot or a heart -- and bring glory. That's enough to make me want to shout an early, "Hallelujah!"

Just an ordinary moment...