I am not good at all in. Things like finishing…completing…excelling.
Sure I move easily. I am known as a nomad, but there is a lot of planning in those decisions and there are often twenty failures for each victory or even a professed option.
I have boundaries. A lot of them actually and I have fears. And pain that became scars that built those boundaries. If a scar is opened those fears and pains will come flowing out like blackbirds from a pie.
Or will they?
Probably not. Is it a lie or just a correlation?
Luke 5:31-32 (MSG) “Jesus heard about it and spoke up, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting outsiders, not insiders—an invitation to a changed life, changed inside and out.”
I need a physician. I need a clinic of specialized doctors. But more than that I need Jesus. I need Him not to protect me from pain but to heal me. To rip off that messy bandage. To clean the wound, rip open the infected scar that I won’t touch because “It is kind of healing, although it hurts still.”
I need a need to be healed. I need to hurt to know I need healing. I am really good at hurting. At finding hurts to use as excuses, but am really bad at admitting why I am hurting. Where I am really hurting. At acknowledging it. At letting people see my true pain.
A case study, if you’ll allow it.
I confessed some of my hurts, fears and pains with a beautiful new friend a few months ago. I confessed them a week after she said, “So I don’t have any more secrets hidden from you.”
A WEEK LATER.
A week after she had exposed her deepest, most emotional pain, I shared my second layer (of many) keeping the rest hidden. A stonewalled castle where I allowed entry into one of the outer walls while drawbridges still blocked any further entry. She had verbally vomited all over me, crying, laughing awkwardly, as she told deep, painful stories of betrayal, abuse, and rejection. Almost as bad as mine…well some of mine.
It got me thinking…at the heart of this is trust. She trusted me. She let me in and yet, I kept the door(s) locked. It must have been like having a 3 hour conversation through an oak door, where I opened the door slightly with the chain still attached, at minute 178.
That solid oak door is built of pain, hurt, unforgiveness, hurt…did I mention I don’t like to hurt.
Luckily Jesus comes for the sick—the broken and pained…trustless, grudge holding, forgotten, and takes that burden. Those burdens He takes and says “It’s done!”
Just a thought as He heads to the cross.
I wrote this while preparing for the Good Friday service at my local megachurch. It only took 15 weeks to lose the paper I wrote it on, edit, expound on and share. While I feel like I have moved a couple steps forward, I still keep fortified and she…well, she realized I lacked trust and rode off into the sunset towards another prince.