Without your wounds where would your power be? …In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. – The angel in Thornton Wilder’s play “The Angel That Troubled the Waters” based on the 5th chapter of the book of John in the Bible.
Life is hard.
If you don’t think so, you probably haven’t lived long enough yet.
When wounded by certain things that happened in my life, a vulnerability set in. The typical response for me as a young child into early adulthood was to hide the wounds or act as if they didn’t really matter. Out of fear, I lied to others and myself about how I was getting along in life. I reasoned that if people REALLY knew how I was doing, they would probably run from me and no longer want to be my friend. After all, their lives were nearly perfect. Right?
Wrong.
I’m not sure when it happened or what triggered it, but at some point in my life, I decided it was time to stop playing the game. I needed to accept who I was and the life I had been given. When that happened, I think the sound of chains dropping must have been audible. The truth shall set you free.
As I began to accept my own imperfections and the imperfections of my childhood, peace began to settle into my soul. Compassion began to grow. I could easily spot others who were hurting, and I wanted to let them know they were not alone.
The first day of my teaching career, my heart instantly connected with each of my sixth grade students as they walked into the classroom. I could feel their pain as well as their joy. That’s when I thanked God for the pain of my past. Because of my own wounds, I was able to identify with the wounds of my students. I could love them and minister to them rather than resent their brokenness.
When my children were born, I was able to envision a life for them that was not so broken. I knew some of the pitfalls and how to avoid them. While sparing them the personal pain associated with many of life’s wounds, I was able to talk to them about pain from first-hand experience. Both of my children had wonderful childhoods, but they also had compassion for those who did not. In part, that was because of my childhood wounds. God was able to take the bad things and use them for good.
As a mother who has lost a child, I am deeply wounded in ways that cannot be healed this side of the veil. Out of this pain, I can look into the eyes of another mother who has lost a child and assure her she has not lost her mind when she can barely think straight. I can help her envision a life that is worth living, even though her heart will never stop bleeding until she holds her child in her arms again. The only reason I can do this is because I have been wounded in the same way.
I would never choose the wounds of my childhood or the wounds that come with losing a child. But I have them. The question is what will I do with them? I could hide them and pretend to be perfectly happy all the days of my life while dying inside. Or I can unveil them and fight to help others who have been wounded.
As for me, I admit I am wounded, but ready and desperate to serve to the best of my ability. That does not make me a hero. I don’t see myself as anyone’s savior. I am a broken and wounded person who can stand next to another broken and wounded person when just about everyone else wants to run.
Journey Of Grief ~ Journey Of Grace 