One summer in college, I worked at a daycare center with three year olds.
Daniel was a little tow-headed boy who always seemed to have dirt on his shirt and jam on his face. He was a handful, and I admit, not one of my favorites. My co-workers explained that his parents were in the midst of a messy divorce and it was really hard on Daniel and his brother, David, a two-year-old in the next room over.
One day on the playground, I looked down to see David standing at my leg. He looked up at me, stretched up his arms, and said softly, “Hold me, hold me.” When I picked him up, he snuggled into my shoulder.
That evening, I was home chatting with my mom about my day and the incident with David on the playground. As I talked, I started feeling angry at their dad for leaving these little boys who needed him.
What happened next surprised me more than I can say. Hardly realizing it, what and whom I was talking about changed:
“These poor little boys. I get that there are problems in the marriage, but that’s not their fault! They need their dad and all of a sudden he’s not there. Doesn’t he care about his boys? Did he even think about us? He just left us! We were just little kids, how were we supposed to understand? We were just little kids…”
My words trailed off into sobbing.
I was two or three when my own parents separated and my dad moved out. I was a tow-headed boy with a brother named Daniel. My middle name is David. These uncanny similarities had flown in under my radar, stirring a deep well of pain I hadn’t known was still there.
I’d forgotten. My heart hadn’t.
Over the years of walking with others seeking freedom from sexual and relational sins and brokenness, I’ve come to believe Jesus allows and perhaps even orchestrates present day scenarios that tap into past wounds. He does so not to re-wound us, but to bring healing.
Lovingly, he knows every wound—its edges, its source, how deep it goes, how long it’s been there.
“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.”
Sometimes present pain or habits or addictions are the ways we become able to hear him knocking.
What wounds do you carry—in your body, in your memories, in your soul? What have you buried? Where have you forgotten? What have you left behind, unhealed?
When finally we open these long-forgotten rooms within, light can come. Christ enters not with trumpets and fanfare, but with scars that match your own. His wounds are deep enough to assume all you have experienced.
Here there may be a new kind of pain, but a healing one. Real healing flows from him. He comes to restore you to life.
Our team at Regeneration is here to help.
Question: What do you think keeps people from facing old wounds? Do you have a story that can encourage others to take that risk? Leave a comment here.