One More Wounded Healer

One more day . . . it's a common phrase uttered in life. Could I have just one more day? This is especially true when thinking about a loved one that we want to spend another day with.
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Looking back I ponder, "Would I have changed anything about Sunday, Sept. 29, 2019, if I knew it was the final day?" (Sidebar: It’s interesting that this year is also a Sunday). I can’t think of anything I would have changed. At the moment I was trying to hold strong and give all I could to support my husband's needs. Friends and family were right there too encouraging us in the best ways they could. 

So here we are today! And I find myself pondering how the past five years have went both fast and slow. I analyze how these years have impacted me emotionally, spiritually, physically and mentality – and yes it's impacted every part.

Interestingly, on my drive to the campground tonight I listen to a perfectly-timed sermon from Dr. Barry Jones (thank you!) titled Moving Toward Healing. He talked about the great comfort God offers each of us, and how we, as people wounded by the hurts of this world (grief, etc.,) can offer comfort.

“He wants to use your life and mine as part of his process of bringing healing and comfort to others. . . . We who have experienced the wounds of this life, are unique positioned to be used in love’s service. To bring God’s comfort to those around us.”

What a challenge and such rich truth. From the beginning days of sharing our journey to continuing to write about my grief process, my heart and desire has been to be an encouragement through honesty. To be a space where the weight of grief can be acknowledged and shared. Diving deeper into what it means to be a Wounded Healer is a beautiful challenge on this eve of Sept. 30. It is also one that God has brought to mind many times over the years.

Even as I attempt to do this, I know it is easy to get stuck with the questions of “But how? How often? Am I helping?” But maybe it’s more simple (less overthinking). To be a wounded healer simply means acknowledging the hurt and grief when we see it. It's following through on that Holy Spirit prompting and simply asking someone if they are ok. It means continually pointing people to the source of all hope and compassion.

Looking up at the night sky this evening while sitting by a campfire, the Big Dipper constellation took center stage. Resting in the idea of Christ being my source of comfort, the thought came to mind that it's like a big scoop. I imagined God scooping up all my hurts into the rectangle. Then I imagined picking up any remaining (stubborn) hurts by my fingertips and placing them into the Big Dipper space – essentially giving these to God one by one.

I know this is an abstract way of thinking about it, but I think God’s comfort can show up in so many ways from a perfectly-timed sermon to a constellation in the sky.

I hope God's great comfort is evident as you rest or wrestle with your grief.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in ALL our troubles."
– 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

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