Some scars hurt.
Thirty winters ago I stepped my right foot straight down on the upturned end of a wire hanger. The pain stuck around for nearly a month. After new skin finally covered the puncture wound, which rested in between the “piggy who went to market” and the “piggy who stayed home,” my foot felt perfectly fine. Day after day, I walked, ran, skipped and danced without remembering that wire hanger or the damage it had caused.
But here’s what happened. The metal so dug deep and wide into my flesh it left a gaping hole that required immediate repair. My body set off an alarm and my cells quickly took action to accomplish one critical task: stop the bleeding. Fibers and collagen bonded and filled the chasm until my foot was fixed. Today, three decades later, each and every time that skin is pressed — even the gentlest touch — I jump, yelp and pant for air.
Our emotions aren’t all that different from our bodies. Hearts bashed in still beat. Souls sliced up still sing. Spirits sucked all but dry still cry out for water. We hurt. We heal. We move on. For those of us who walk with Jesus, we often feel stronger after we survive a trial, because brokenness leads to wholeness.
Can one even truly be whole without first being broken? I don’t think so.