Michael fell a few weeks ago. He was running barefoot at the pool (insert lifeguard whistle) and tripped on a little ledge and went sprawling. I hurried over, knowing he would need me even before the cries began. I held him and patted his back, I inspected his knees and hands, I kissed his and head and "I got ya, it's going to be okay". He kept crying, which was strange, because I didn't see any blood. It seemed like too much for just a bump. Then I shifted his body and I saw it: a giant bloody toe. I had looked in all the expected places for an injury, but it was his toe that had been scraped of skin and was bright red. I took him to the lifeguard station and we did the usual, antiseptic wipe, pressure to slow the bleeding, a band aid. I kept holding him for several more minutes, then he was ready to get back down and play with his friends. We changed the band aid when we got home, applied some Neosporin, covered the foot with a sock so he wouldn't mess with it.
About a week later, he came to sit beside me. His feet were bare again, and he was looking intently at his injured toe. He touched it gently, and I noticed that a huge scab had formed over the cut. "Does it still hurt?" I asked him. He nodded, still looking at the toe. "That's called a scab," I explained. "The scab grows over your cut like a natural band aid and it stays there while the skin heals underneath. Then, when it's ready, your scab falls off." I was about to say, "And it'll be like it never happened," but I stopped myself. That's not accurate, I thought. I mean, he still remembers the fall and the pain a week later, and while he might forget about it over the course of his life, it's not going to go away. It was a big enough cut that he'll probably have a scar , a silvery patch of new skin to remind him of the fall. So instead I said, "When it's ready, your scab falls off and you'll have a little scar where you got hurt. But once it's healed, it won't hurt you anymore." He looked at me then. "It won't hurt no more?" Nope, it won't hurt no more.
I thought some more about wounds and hurts. I thought of James, who hits his bruises, hoping it will make them go away. I thought of my sister, who would pick her scabs too soon and bleed, who would pour nail polish remover over her cuts. Thankfully she learned better wound care in med school, and when she performs surgery, she stitches and glues and pieces her patients back together. But it's not just our physical wounds that we mistreat, that we run dirt into or pretend they don't exist. We do this in our wounded hearts, we use crude, ineffective means to cover and hide and our hearts just get mangled in the process. There is only one way to wholeness, one course of treatment in our bodies AND our hearts to fully heal. We have to flush our wounds, treat with antiseptic, cover with clean bandages, and we have to let our bodies do the hard work of rebuilding. We need new skin, new nerves, new connections to grow under our scabs. And we have to wait, to allow the healing process to complete itself. Only then can our scabs fall off, our bandages be removed, our bodies and hearts be free to live fully. Not as pristine as the original, but whole as our scars entwine us and help us to move again.
http://desertstream.org/living-waters/
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