Forgive my C.S. Lewis knock-off title, but it seemed appropriate for this post. I know that this analogy can at times seem trite, overused, and cliché, but I still like it and I have wanted to write about this for awhile.
This summer, sometime in June, I had to walk around campus to get some errands taken care of for my job. I was leaving South Russell Residence Hall and going down the stairs that are facing Fourth Street. I made it down two of the cement steps, but for some reason, (I can’t really remember how it all happened,) the heal of my shoe caught the back of the step and propelled me to fall face forward.. Somehow I managed to catch my fall with my hands in front of me to prevent my upper body from hitting the concrete. The momentum of my fall kept me going though, so I used the momentum to swing my legs from behind me to the side and then in front of me. I probably looked like a gymnast gone wrong on speed. By the time I made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs (I went about three-fourths of a flight of stairs,) I was able to get my feet under me with my hands holding the ground keeping my balance. How it all happened, I don’t really remember, but I managed not to break a single bone. I did however, acquire some minor cuts and bruises. The main affliction was a large gash on my left shin and side of my calf. The muscle was bruised deeply which caused swelling about the size of half of a tennis ball. I also had a gash so deep, my shin bone was almost exposed. So I had a very large swelling bruise and I lost about a 2x2’ surface area of skin on my shin.
Where is this story going? Somewhere, I promise. I have never had a physical wound as deep and painful as this one. As it healed, I observed it more than any other wound I’ve ever had. I was so intent on it healing well because I did not want to have an ugly scar on my leg, so I went to extensive measures to help the healing process as much as I could. I frequently spent time pouring alcohol and hydrogen peroxide into the wound to clean it out. It was a pitiful sight to see as I tried to strain my way over my need to blow on my shin. I never had much success in doing it by myself so Becca always had to help me blow on it.
About three weeks after the fall, the wound finally stopped bleeding and it began to form a scab. Unfortunately, the scab was difficult to keep because I couldn’t get it to stop oozing puss and it was keeping it too moist. (Sorry for the gory details.) If I would wear pants to work it would get irritated and rub off. I tried to keep ointment on it to help it heal fast but that would only continue to keep it moist and it really needed to dry out. I also slept with an icepack strapped to my leg every night. Initially this was to make the swelling go down, but later it was to ease the fever in my leg.
During the Fourth of July weekend, I went to North Padre Island with my sister to spend some time with her. At that time, I still didn’t have much of a scab. Bridgette and I spent two full days on the beach, relaxing and soaking up the sun, and enjoying the peacefulness. I also spent a good amount of time swimming in the ocean and riding on the soft waves. Salty ocean water and a large open wound don’t make for a happy combination. You can imagine the amount of pain that I felt each time I set my leg in the ocean and the waves slapped up against it. The pain was so striking that my leg would go weak and I wanted to cut it off. Drastic, I know, but nonetheless how it felt. I kept walking deeper into the ocean despite the pain. The salt water continued to saturate into my sore. The more the wound was in the salt water, the more the pain was released and seemed to ease. Soon my leg only felt a little numb and the sore began to accept the salty water as the healing chemical that it was. Though the salty water brought more pain, it was one of the best things for my sore as it healed. It had a drying affect. As I mentioned, a scab would not begin for the longest time because the wound continued to stay wet. The salt, as would be expected, helped dry the wound and provided an opportunity for the scab to come and stay.
The swelling on my leg had gone down after the trip to the ocean and the remaining bruise began to take on a number of pretty colors that looked like Van Gogh’s art palette. Despite the continued healing, the throbbing pain in my leg never stopped. If I was sitting down I would have to keep my leg elevated or else the blood in my leg would slow down and the throbbing would be unbearable. If I was standing up, I would either have to walk around or hold my balance on my right leg as I held my left leg up. The great extremes that I went to may sound odd but they were necessary in coping with the pain. It also made for some interesting situations in which I found myself.
I remember a few conversations that my roommate, Julia, and I would get into. We would start talking to each other from different rooms in our apartment until the AC would kick on and then I couldn’t hear her so I would step into my doorway to hear. My leg would start hurting as I stood there so I’d hike it up on my desk as we stood and talked. On another occasion, I was invited to sit in on a central office leadership team meeting for my internship. Everyone gathered around a large conference table to begin the meeting. I hadn’t been sitting long at all when my leg started pulsating reminding me that it wanted to be propped up. I spent the next three hours in the meeting trying to discretely prop my leg in my lap and in other positions while still looking professional. It would have been a humorous sight from an outsider’s point of view.
Once a solid scab was formed, the healing picked up the pace. The bruise began to fade quickly and the scab turned into solid skin. By the time the scab was completely healed a total of about eight weeks had passed. Despite all of my attempts, I still have an ugly scar on my leg, in addition to an odd indention on the side of my shin. My guess is that this is because I didn’t have any skin at all and the skin in that spot holds tightly and is thicker than before.
Now, four months after I fell the scar is still there. I don’t think about it much at all anymore except when it tingles and reminds me it is there. Because the skin holds tighter there, the circulation is not as strong and on occasion, if I haven’t moved positions in a long time or if I stand on it too long, it will get a slight stinging sensation.
Now why in the world would I just spend two full pages on a Microsoft Word document (single spaced) typing about my ugly scar? I’m sure my reader has probably figured it out because the connection is not a hard one to make. I’ll spare you even more details and simply show the main connections. Granted, this will still probably be long, because you know by now how I like details.
Odd as it may sound, I enjoyed watching my leg as it healed. I think it is amazing that God created our bodies in such a way that they could heal themselves to some extent. Watching the healing process reminds me of when one goes through emotional healing.
A little over a year ago I began to heal from a deep emotional wound. Much like trying to get my leg wound to heal without a scar I was adamant about healing in the healthiest way I could. I surrounded myself with people who knew me, loved me, and could help me through this time. My three closest friends played the role of “blowing on my wound.” I couldn’t do any healing by myself so I leaned on them for prayers, and support. I was also on an amazing staff of fourteen other ladies at Collins that were there for me on the lonely Sunday afternoons and the late nights when I couldn’t sleep because the pain kept me awake.
My friend and mentor, Kelly played the role of pouring salt into my open wound. She did it freely and without regret. I met with her on a weekly basis and I would leave every meeting with her feeling heavier than before we met. Despite the pain that she would bring to the surface, I always went back for more like a masochist. I went back for more because I knew that what she was offering was exactly what I needed. My emotional wound needed to dry out. The fantasy world that I wanted so badly needed to be shattered and Kelly would faithfully do just that for me. She was the first to know what had caused this wound because I knew that she would not candy coat anything for me. At the same time that Kelly stripped me of my hopes that were holding me back I had no doubt that she loved me and was only offering me what I needed.
There were times in my healing that I foolishly thought I was done. I eventually reached a time when I could go days and then even weeks when I would think about what had happened and move on past it without crying about it or getting overwhelmingly sad about it. Then, out of the blue a certain memory would be triggered or a lonely day would creep up on me and I felt like I fell back to the pit of the valley again. This happened several times. I would get excited about the progress I was making in healing and then something would happen that would irritate the healing wound and open it up again just when it was starting to form a scab. This went on for a few months and it was the most frustrating time for me. I didn’t understand why when everything in my mind was ready to move on, my emotions would hold me back. Though I am a girl, I don’t think I am as emotional as most girls. I try hard to think through things rationally before I let me emotions take control of me. In this case though, I just could not take control of my emotions. They held me until I healed. As much as I hated it, time is what I needed to heal.
Months passed and I continued to heal. A year has passed and I look back with bittersweet memories of what I went through as I was healing. Though it was the most painful time in my entire life, my relationship with God was strengthened. I learned a lot about how my will and desires are not always the best thing for me or in the best timing. I learned how to let go of the things that I so long to control around me. There are countless other lessons I learned that will no doubt help me in life when I encounter other emotional wounds or when I attempt to help someone with an emotional wound.
I still have a scar. As much as I want it gone, it remains. It is fading. I don’t think of it much anymore. When it does surface itself and flash a bit of pain my way, I don’t dwell on it. Like with my leg, I thought I could go through the whole healing process without a scar. I was mistaken and now I am glad that I was mistaken. The scar is a reminder of sweet memories that are just that now. It is also a reminder of how God heals. The scar reminds me of the new hopes that I have for the future.
