The Promise of Healing
The waiting room in the hospital felt cold as I drew my knees to my chest. Down the sterile, white hall and through the double doors, my little boy lay on an operating table. My fingers shook as I tapped out words on my phone, updating family and friends about the events of the past several hours.
It could’ve been worse, I reminded myself. But no parent ever wants to see their child hurting.
My phone buzzed. Text messages flooded in from friends promising to continue uplifting our son in prayer. My husband sat next to me, staring at the waiting room television but not seeing it. We waited for what seemed like hours before the doctor appeared, tired but smiling.
“He did great,” she said. “Only two rods, a screw, a few sutures, and he’ll be as good as new before you know it. He’s in recovery and will probably sleep through the night, but you can see him as soon as we clean him up.”
Relief flooded me. My boy was going to be all right.
I didn’t count on the questions he might have, though. Months later, he asked, “Will I always be broken? Will you still want me?”
My heart broke as I reassured him we would always want him. Nothing could ever keep us from loving him. I reminded him that his bones would heal, but it would take time.
His questions and pain reflected my own heart in the midst of brokenness. Isn’t that how we, too, feel in our moments of grief and suffering? Wondering if anyone cares enough to pick up the pieces and embrace us in our brokenness?
Through the healing process with my son’s broken arm, we learned that when broken bones begin to heal, they form temporary calluses around the broken spot to provide extra support and protection during the healing process. Our bodies know just what we need to recover from the trauma we’ve experienced. The process to regrow and repair can take up to eighteen months before the bone smooths out to its normal size. What an incredible self-healing body we have!
As I looked into my son’s eyes, ready to answer his heart’s questions, I considered brokenness of all kinds. Perhaps the broken body isn’t so different from a grieving heart? They both require time to heal, some longer than others. They both require extra support and protection while healing. Both may leave a lasting impression on us, perhaps a slight physical imperfection or reminder of where we’ve been. But there is hope in all brokenness, that it is only temporary.
My son’s injury reminded me of my own brokenness. I don’t think any of us expect to experience a life of pain or suffering, but the truth is, we will at some point if we haven’t already. After my mom passed away, I wondered how anyone could survive loss and be stronger. I felt weak. Alone. Broken. The recovery process took longer than expected and my spirit desperately needed comfort from the Holy Spirit and support from friends and family. But as with my son’s broken arm, I could remember this journey to healing takes time. Yet it will come.
Have you, too, experienced pain and suffering? Maybe you’ve experienced the loss of a loved one? Or some other pain you keep hidden. I wonder if your life is different from what you expected and disappointment or pain has broken you?
Friend, remember this: Even in our moments of pain, God promises he is near. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV). If you’re on this journey of recovery, whether it’s a broken bone or a broken soul, savor this sweet promise as well: “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3 NIV). We don’t bandage wounds with the intent of leaving them like that forever. The bandages are temporary, to protect the wound so it heals properly. This suffering we experience will not last forever, and God is with us every step of the way. He promises us healing, and that’s a promise we can count on.
Amanda Wells is the proud wife of a smokin’ hot third generation farmer, and they have taken Psalm 127:5 literally, raising their quiverful of six kids on the farm. She loves baking, reading, writing, and arithmetic (kidding!). Amanda writes about faith, homeschooling on the farm, and family life at farmwyfe.com.
Photograph © Sean Gorman, used with permission
