Wounded

Every wound tells a story. Whether the wound be internal or external, a mere scratch or a deep gash, everybody has had a least one. Some wounds come by self infliction, some by accident, some by pre-meditation, and yes some come by sticks and stones. Some wounds heal, some wounds leave a scar, yet some wounds are fatal. Regardless, each wound tells a tale.

The age old questions always raises it ugly head when we see wounds: What happened? How quickly we forget not all wounds are as simple as a skinned knee. Where the question may appear simple enough, the asker typically does not adequately calculate just how loaded those two words are? Whereas some stories come easy and are told with great pride, others desire greatly for the story to remain buried... deep under layers of shame and even guilt.

If I may say so, I doubt many of us have considered that wounds are one thing that all humanity shares in. Wounds form an unidentified bond between every person who lives and breathes on this thing we call earth. Now that's not to say we all share equal wounds, but we all share wounds. Our lives are wrapped up in a wounded world and society. Wounds are an unescapable reality. But I reveal this to you not to proclaim a message of gloom and doom, but to encourage you. As wounded ones, we tend to turn inward and go it alone. Many of us walking wounded convince ourselves this or that will fix it, but telling someone my story will only bring me shame and them disgust. Our only resort, hurt alone. I beg to differ.

I present to you another solution. I dare to ask you, "What happened?" I gladly hand you the shovel and take my own and say to you, let's dig this one up together. I say to you... you don't have to hurt alone. As one who is undone, I say to you, I will bleed with you, cry with you, hurt with you, and in time heal with you. I, too, am one who has been and will again be wounded. I'm not afraid, but I am undone. I am undone, because...

The one in whom I believe thought enough of me, to be wounded on my behalf. And I don't mean to say he fell and skinned his knee, mind you. Oh no, my Savior, Jesus Christ, bore fatal wounds, so that this pain I feel would only be temporary and so I would know immense joy. He bled so I would be whole. He died that I might live. He who knew no wrong became all that is wrong in me (and yes you are the "me" in this wound story as much as I am) and was dealt death's greatest blow. He willfully absorbed that pain and those fatal wounds for me. He knew pain, he knew death, but he did not know them long. He still bears the scars, so you and I can not only know the story, but proudly tell it. So as we experience our own wounds, we can boldly hope in the only one who can heal them as we hold tightly to His wounded hand. You see, God the Father, used the one bond we all share to unite us to Him through His wounded son. Wounds are a unique bond. Let us not hide them, but bear them together in Christ, who offers you His wound-scar hand of healing and hope.

Friends, I implore you, fear your wounds no more. Be free from them. Again, wounded ones I say to you, "Our wounds bring us together. You do not and must not go it along. Let us heal together." So let us be one with the one who knows our wounds, for He too, took them on and yes boldly wears them even now.

Feel free to share your wounds, via comments, or email (brotherao@gmail.com)