DayBreaks for 6/27/16 – Walking Around Holding Our Wounds
Galen is on vacation. From the DayBreaks archive, June 2006:
“I have on my desktop a picture of a boy named Sasha. Sasha is one of the children of Chernobyl, a young boy born after the disaster that happened when the core at a nuclear facility in Russia melted and leaked. This little boy, Sasha, is perhaps 5-years-old, and he is gripping, with a tiny arm, the side of a crib. His other hand is flailing upward toward his ear, his head and shoulders the only portion of his body not mutated. On the right side of Sasha’s chest rises a lump the size of a softball, and his belly grows out disfigured before him as though he were pregnant, a truly painful sight.
“His legs are oversized and blocky, and he has no knees, only rounded flesh flowing awkwardly to his oversized feet, which produce four toes each, the largest of which, as big as my fist, is distanced from the others and pointing itself in an opposite direction. From the bottom of his stomach protrudes a rounded flow of flesh as though it were a separate limb, stopped in half growth. Sasha, the article in which I found the picture states, is in constant pain, lives in constant pain.
“As terrible as it is to compare Sasha to ourselves, I have to go there. I have to say that you and I were not supposed to be this way. As creatures in need of somebody outside of ourselves to name us, as creatures incomplete outside the companionship of God, our souls are born distorted, I am convinced of it. I am convinced that Moses was right, that his explanation was greater than Freud’s or Maslow’s or Pavlov’s.
“I believe, without question, that none of us are happy in the way we were supposed to be happy. I believe that nobody on this planet is so secure, so confident in their state that they feel the way Adam and Eve felt in the Garden before they knew they were naked. I believe we are in the wreckage of a war, a kind of Hiroshima, a kind of Mount Saint Helens, with souls distorted like the children of Chernobyl. As terrible as it is to think about these things, as ugly as it is to face them, I have to see the world this way in order for it to make sense. I have to believe something happened, and we are walking around holding our wounds.” – Donald Miller, Searching for God Knows What, Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004, pg. 87-88
Let’s face it. We all have wounds. Some are old, some are new. They all are infected and nauseating when we recall them. We’ve inflicted some of them on ourselves. Some have been inflicted by others. But it matters little where they came from. What matters is that they exist and we shouldn’t try to deny them. In fact, we need to admit them, and seek help to deal with our wounds while at the same time offering to help others with their woundedness. And we need to find the faith and the courage to take our hurts and pains to the Great Physician who will one day heal all our wounds. We’ve already been healed by the wounds that He bore in our place.
“By His stripes, we are healed.” – Isaiah
PRAYER: We try hard, God, to pretend that we’re just fine, that we’re not in pain or infected. But deep in our hearts, we know otherwise – and so do You. Give us the courage and strength to admit how full of infection we are and to come to the one place where we can truly be healed of that which will take our eternal life away from us. Thank you that in Christ’s cross we can be made whole once again, forever. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Copyright 2016, Galen C. Dalrymple. All rights reserved.