Tag: Scars

Tears of heaven

…they fall most not when we sin,

but when we repent…

what can compete with the perfection

of a repentant heart…

….

Tender tantrums of healing

I’m fascinated at the way our human body mends, physically, emotionally, socially…

From our visit to valley near Kolar gold fields

It takes tiny baby steps, and It may not even look like a mending. Have you ever darned? Y’know, stitched? I’ve watched my Ma do that, her tiny needle sashaying across a tear in the fabric. She’d turn it over and go again with her needle;

I’ve tried it, but I’m also impatient. My Ma wore a regular old fashioned ‘thimble’ – iron one-finger gloves, they filter/ no they take my needle jabs.

My lil thimble memoir from trip

Healing is a many faced darling. It is the firm face of a good Physician, the Ouch! of Physiotherapy… it is God saying, “Be Still and know….” when you’re about to get that needle in your vein. It is the songbird in the storm, she’s yelling sweet delivery in your ears but you can’t hear her for the waves.

It is a boat with no sail (it may seem). It is trusting, leaning of your entire personality on a Thing you can’t see or feel but you know a certain shift. You are Changing, moving, rising, falling. It’s the scab in the wound, or the simmering scar. You’re watching this through cataracts of pure sweet rain in the desert.

Oh yes, if you’ve been there, healing is a darling savage thing.

You touch me from the inside.

Last week I had a Word, a power word that began to heal me. Was this, “Lean on Me..” from the Bible, and not words I do not know- They followed me room to room and out the door and in the street and among other faces. It overpowered other words, like a sword. You must know by now, if you’ve read previous posts, this is from a real place. Peace can be faked?

This Post Title got me grinning. It is true, tender, raw, achy raw, real.

Sometimes we do not heal externally, but we are settling down deep within. It is a sunrise in another world deep in your spirit.

I’ve watched a broken man heal like that after his only son was killed in a mobile accident. Don’t ask me how, but I watched his eyes go calm, like he had a new secret.

I’ve seen it in my husband Jeff too, in a few good friends we have, seen it in strangers when they choose not to pick up a fight and they could’ve but they just walk away with a generosity that I’m certain hurts to give away.

You could find silence aggressive, if you’re wanting a fight. A doctor might find it uncomfortable if a patient smiles at a terminal verdict.

Thimbles.

For soul. Psyche. Sometimes I’m the finger, sometimes the Thimble, for myself, for another:

the resistance against dis- ease, the breaking of new skin, the breaking away from old muscle lethargy;

the stir of new sensories, the cry of a newborn, the severing of umbilical cords to past routine habits of Thought; a departure from mindset, withdrawal symptoms of an addictive pattern that must go…

the birthing of a bud, it must sprout off stem, it must spilt in halves and quarters in petal, it must give away its aroma, must explode pollen, must yield to the light, draw sap from stock, must route to Leaf for supply, it is no more in a sapling, It now must host it’s own new sub- support, it must break out and be a whole new creation. This does not happen in a static state of Nothing. It takes a Movement. It faces Change, It must eat Dew and drink the air like never before. A new Bud does not argue with the Process; It can die, It can live.

You and I are more than the birds of the air, the flowers of the field. As I write this, there’s news of a dear cousin’s passing, but she had this peace that passes all human understanding. She leaves behind a legacy of Faith and Love and Strength that looked past the transient temporary into the eternal that was present in her thoughts and everyday activities.

I’m staring at the Act of healing, and how it arrives in Departures & Arrivals of events. I’m amazed at the power of the human mind to overwhelm our frail bodies. There is a secret core we are given, and we cannot give that away to other voices that rule us with Fear, panic, desperation.

I believe there are mysteries to this thing we call Healing, and we will know it better, when we know better. But today a Still Small Voice captures me with Its Word Cover- like a Thimble : “Be Still and know that I am God…”

Yes, healing happens first in the place where we know the things that rule our securities.

(Would love for you to read this one ๐Ÿ‘‡on prayer. It’s worth the five minute read by Mitch Teemly).

Connecting With God

The Cross and the Cradle

And out of every wound a garden grew

The first time I really thought about Christmas, was when there was this rather large wooden cross snuck somewhere around a manger scene. It was at a low roofed chapel on a hill, I must’ve been 7 years old. The hill had white wild lilies growing all around nodding at the winds. It was a chilly morning that Christmas, the sun was thin gold spilling in through stained glass window with red blue and amber leaf and Shepherd. I remember staring at everything and wondering why He would love me or even know me by name, why would God be born in a stable in hay and everything, and why would He even want to die for thousands and billions of humans who didn’t care anyway?

That manger-cradle will forever remind me of the Cross, its like they are one vivid prop in the centre stage of my life. The Cross was mine, the Stable mine, I the inn keeper, I the jury, oh and I, Barabbas.

Rambling… yes,

it’s all too much to take in, too much. The beauty of This season grabs me with the fact that it was/is all for us, in exactly the way it happened.

That entire route from Cradle to Cross spills with parables and true life events that birthed whole new generations of rewired humans. It gave seed to new/renewed hearts and lives, like gardens we have grown from the wounds of the Cross.

I can scarcely take it all in, the Love, Tolerance, the sacrifice of Love, Forgiveness,Reconciliation, and Hope that refuses to give up on the chase for Peace. I love this season with all my yesterdays and todays and tomorrows. Every wound is His, every piece of our life story woven in His magnificent weave spanning every generation of Us.

Nothing is lost, nothing missing, nothing broken, Shalom! Look carefully,

out of every wound, a garden grows.