“I feel like a bandaid.” a friend of mine said.
“I don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”
“I am afraid of the future, remorseful of the past.”
“I am not…”
“What makes your heart soar?” “I don’t remember.”
It is the oddest thing to have such a strong desire to soar and feel stuck like a bandaid. A bandaid on a mortal wound. Trying desperately to hold the bleeding back as it seeps around you and through you. Trying with all your might to heal the wound underneath. Knowing that if you stay, the bleeding will continue, but afraid to let go and soar.
I know, logically, that we are not meant to be stuck to the wound. I know we are to live into life abundantly. I know that God wants us to soar despite the wound. But I hold onto the past, thinking if I just cling longer or better it will be healed.
I made a list of all the things I was sore about. I dug deep into my pain and the pain I passed to others. I made amends wherever possible. I thought I had held together the wound. The wound festered. As it oozed blood and pus, I deluded myself into thinking I had done a good job. The tidal wave of infection and debris pushed against my resolve to cling on. The pressure was tremendous as I imagined that I couldn’t let go, that I was doing a good job. I tore loose with a loud pop. I fell to the ground and was covered with the filth I was holding back. It showered me. It covered me. It drowned me.
God reached down. He sat next to me and held my hand as the filth ran off me. He sat with me as the ooze slid away. As the wetness dried away, and the ooze left, he whispered. He leaned over, kissed my forehead, said He loved me, and he whispered. He whispered, “Soar.”