home

“In my deepest wound I saw your glory and it dazzled me.” St Augustine

Home. Thinking back on our first understanding of home can come with a torrent of emotion...the warm sliver of window light that woke us each morning, the black lab that met us on the driveway each evening, the daily paper always plopped just so on the counter, the hustle before holidays, the calm of Sunday afternoons, the smell of Friday night pizza, the sounds of that loud heater “warming up”...the memory of home is pregnant with nostalgia.

We remember the precious simple things that made up our life. We thought these would always be, but then time ticks away, calendar pages flip and one day we look back and we see it. What was once our whole world is now a memory. We didn’t know the permanent things were temporary, taken-for-granted gifts. They were seeds to nourish, many of which would not sprout for years to come. We assumed we would always be in this environment where we were loved and adored. At the time we may have wanted freedom from home’s constraints, but we were unaware those constraints were pieces of a foundation that would hold up in life’s ebb and flow.

But for most of us, memories of the past contain a unique mixture of comfort and pain. Whether thinking back brings common hurts caused by friends or hormones, or lingering memories of abuse, avoidance, or addiction, we wonder what do we do with this individualized GIF of pictures, phrases, and feelings running through our minds? What do we do when remembering brings pain? What do we do with neglect that masqueraded as freedom, control that masqueraded as care? Where do those memories settle? And how do we cause some to take root and others to fade away?
Memories are precious, not because they’re always wonderful but because they cannot be bought or sold. We speak of “making memories,” but we have no control over what becomes a memory and what doesn’t.

We’ve been long taught to avoid feelings of despair, loneliness, and sadness, but we may have forgotten that those feelings have a purpose. Terrified of falling into the pit, we stay on the periphery dreading what may be down there, forbidding ourselves to go there, living on the surface all while knowing the slightest “scratch” may unleash the ground swell below. In doing this we’ve forsaken the gift of wholeness, living days and months and years with the tangled mess that is our heart. It seems like a good idea because the untangling can be uncomfortable. What if we don’t like what we find, what if it changes us? Isn’t it better to move on? Maybe sometimes. But what do ignored wounds do? They either fester or they seem to heal but the stubborn scar tissue won’t allow for complete healing. May I ask you a question? Are there places where the ground has started to crack? Situations that bring out something unexpected? Maybe it’s time to go there.

In remembering and revisiting there can be healing--feelings that accompany pain help digest and process that pain. The depth of the pain varies, the intensity varies, the time needed varies, but one principle that doesn’t vary: healing happens when pain is no longer ignored. A wound, whether physical or emotional, must be tended to. Painful? Yes. But the pain of healing is purposeful and liberating, while the pain of avoidance is a passive aggressive inhibitor of abundance and freedom-- a constant dull ache. The potential healing is in direct proportion to the intensity of the pain.

And like the sweet sentiments of our past, pain also becomes a building block in making us who we are. Did your wounds break your heart, I can’t imagine the magnitude. Did Christ weep alongside you? Yes. Is it fair that your pain is worse than another’s. No. It isn’t fair. But do those things nullify or negate who God is and who you are in Him? No. Saying those things mattered does not mark them with a stamp of approval from you or from God. Saying they mattered means you are acknowledging their ability to bring Jesus to you. You want to just avoid old hurts and pain? That’s fine, but know this: you are forfeiting the healing offered you.

Many have ignored the hurt only to find it surface in the most unexpected times, others have marinated in past pain and instead of welcoming healing, they’ve lived crippled their whole lives.
But some have sat with those memories, felt them, even relived them, and found their power to be weak in light of our Great Healer. Jesus never said to avoid uncomfortable or painful feelings. In fact it seems He usually addressed it. The sick, the dying, the sinful, the broken, the guilty--never did He paint their lives with optimism, but with faith and healing. He didn’t tell the man with the withered hand to hide or get over it...He told him to hold it up. What if the healing we long for, the wholeness we’ve been suspicious of, is on the other side of holding it up to our Jesus? What if acknowledging pain proves to be the first step in wholeness.
Oh, my friend. Past wounds are painful, taking a step toward them is terrifying. But if you’re willing, know that you have One who will travel the course with you. One who has seen the way the whole time. One who knows the depth of that pit and will go down in it with you. One who will bring you back to new, fresh, healed, whole life. One who invites you to find your home in Him.