Monday, November 14, 2011

My wounds are healed

I used to wish that I could rewrite history
I used to dream that each mistake could be erased
Then I could just pretend
I never knew the me back then

I used to pray that You would take this shame away
Hide all the evidence of who I've been
But it's the memory of
The place You brought me from
That keeps me on my knees
And even though I'm free

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

I have not lived a life that boasts of anything
I don't take pride in what I bring
But I'll build an altar with
The rubble that You've found me in
And every stone will sing
Of what You can redeem

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

Don't let me forget
Everything You've done for me
Don't let me forget
The beauty in the suffering

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar
-Point Of Grace



I have a lot of thoughts and mixed emotions that come to my mind when I look at this picture (or when I look in the mirror) but the top three are this.

1. A little bit of surprise: I can't believe that's my stomach and my scar.
2. Lots of emotion: There's so much of my life that's packed into those marks on my stomach
3. Fuzzy polka dot jammies are awesome! 

Six months ago I was still so emotionally wrecked that, even though I was doing well physically, I was still not *well* (whatever that means exactly) and I didn't like being around a lot of people or going out anywhere because I wasn't used to that after spending over a year in bed.

I wasn't able to get up and go to church every Sunday morning. I wasn't able to workout with my friend. I wasn't able to do line dancing with my brothers at a hoedown last year. I wasn't able to sing at church during our congregational songs because I was short of breath. And I was definitely not able to hold down a full-time job as a waitress (at Rolling Meadows) and drive myself around town in my own car.

My wounds are healed and I bear the scars. Jesus carries scars too and because of his, we can be partakers in Heaven if we repent of our sins and believe in Christ. Because of mine, I can point others to his. 

Are your wounds healed? Is there purpose in your scars?

No comments:

Post a Comment