I’ve been blessed in the area of broken bones and large puncture wounds. What I mean is, I haven’t broken anything but my pinky toe, and I’ve never required stitches. I sprained my ankle once, I’ve had shin splints and I gave birth five times. So, I know what it feels like to wait on your body to heal, and not be able to speed anything up.
In fact, I’ve heard that a sprained ankle can take longer than a broken ankle to heal, depending on the injury, so it makes sense why I have such a distinct memory of being about 13 or so and feeling like I would never walk again. The healing took so very long, I often thought perhaps it wasn’t healing at all. Any small improvement that I made disappeared inside that worry-lens that I looked through. I couldn’t see any good that had happened because I completely focused on what I still couldn’t do.
I often look at how God made our physical bodies and ponder the metaphor that we humans are. We are in His image, we are a reflection of the One who created us, as well as a reflection of Creation itself. Every wild and crazy physiological thing I learn about the human body and how each part functions astounds me because I know there is some beautiful way that the natural is symbolic of the supernatural.
So it is with waiting on a physical injury to heal. The way we heal slowly, from the inside out. The deeper the gash in my arm, the longer until I will no longer feel pain. Even longer until I will no longer notice the scar. Our skin layers heal inside first, the outside being the very last thing to heal. Isn’t that exactly how our soul heals, too?
Even now, I am in a season of healing long-standing brokenness in my life and in my heart. Just like I remember feeling that ankle sprain take forever, and often seem like it wasn’t healing at all, I keep stepping back into impatience. I want to feel all better now, God, why is it so slow?
I have that lens on, the one that makes me see everything in a scarcity way. The one that makes me view life as everything I do not have. I do not have a history of healing. I have a history of pain. Healing happens eventually, but so slow you can’t even tell. But really, none of that is true at all. Those are the lies of that incorrect lens.
Our healing is sometimes like the turning of the earth. We always know it’s happening – night comes, the sunrise comes again. God is knitting together each layer of healing, slowly, slower even than I would like. But I can look back and see how many days and nights have passed already. I’m always bending towards healing.
If you find yourself in a season of healing, but not quite sure what is taking so long — this is for you. I feel like it could be talked about a little bit more – that the healing sometimes takes a while. Sometimes God swoops in and instantly, miraculously fixes a situation. Sometimes God quietly and miraculously and eventually fixes a situation. None is less a miracle. None is accidental.
I can wait on you, Lord. Give me your lens, that I might be steadfast in healing. Give me the freedom to exist wholly in this place, with the wound healed a little, but not all the way. Let me rejoice in each layer of healing. Let me rejoice.
By Arianne Segerman, of Mabel + Riv