Is there anyone out there in pain? Any broken hearts? Any minds that are in fragments? Any wounded bodies? I don’t know exactly what will cure you, or how the process will look, but there is always hope. God sees you and He sees your pain. Two thousand years ago, He took the pain you are in today and He died as He carried it on that cross, taking it with Him to the grave. Isaiah 53 verse 5 says “He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed.” Even as I type that out, I read it and read it and read it again. By His wounds I am healed.
Once, a thorn went into my foot. These things sometimes happen here in Africa. We know that there are thorns but we also like to feel the earth. It’s a risk we take and shoes are often left on the doorstep as we venture out. What actually happened with this particular thorn was similar to what happened in the Titanic nightmare, but on a much, much smaller scale and nobody died. What was visible was really just the tip. I pulled that out thinking I had solved the problem, but the discomfort intensified and infection settled in and only after weeks of limping, antibiotics and agony did we discover the rest of the “iceberg” under the surface. The sonographer who, eventually, located it deep in my foot got his arm, gleefully, squeezed and I, properly, hugged the doctor who cut the intruder out. Who knew that a thorn left in the flesh could cause such unnecessary suffering? Nobody knows how good it is to have thorn-free feet if that is all they have ever known and so I’m grateful it happened, and I’m grateful it’s over.
During the time of the swollen, hurting foot, my sister arrived with a swollen, hurting heart. Whilst my affliction was physical, hers was emotional. I could do nothing for hers and she could do nothing for mine, but somehow, shoulders together, we halved the hurting. I remember sitting on the children’s playhouse balcony, my left arm, protectively, across her back and my ugly, right foot cradled in her hands on her lap. Romans 12 verse 15 says we ought to “mourn with those who mourn.” I did not sing to her or coax her into merriment. She did not tell me off for not wearing shoes. We sat together – my pierced foot, her pierced heart and the kindest, pierced hands the world has ever known resting, unseen, on each of our heads.
Recently, I spoke of that time and my sister could not even, clearly, remember the day we sat, quietly, side by side. Two wounded soldiers wondering if everything would ever go back to the way it was before. Bodies heal – mine, certainly, did. Souls heal – hers, certainly, did. It often takes time – it, certainly, did for us. There must be a thousand ways to get to a point of wholeness again, and yet what stands out for me is the powerful, untaught art of holding another and allowing oneself to be held whilst in the “messy middle”, which every story, usually, has. Foreign objects and poison must be eliminated and wounded hearts need careful attention but my left shoulder touching her right shoulder was more than enough in those overwhelming moments. A powerful, free tonic for those parts of us that medicine could not fix.
He was wounded so that we could be healed. He was punished so that we could live in peace. We can certainly hold one another as He does the work only He can do, and yet it is wise to remember this for the times we find ourselves alone: “Even to your old age and grey hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” (Isaiah 46 verse 4)
Is there anyone out there in pain? I have written, today, for you. The story isn’t over yet. Allow yourself to be held today – in human arms and the arms of the Almighty, both.
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