Recycled Grace: Healing
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
— Psalm 147:3
I threw out my back on Sunday. Not because I did anything crazy. I lifted a five gallon water bottle into the back of my husband’s truck. That was it. One lift, one twist, and one pop in my lower back, though, that little pop was enough to set me back a few days. Yesterday, I felt like I was rounding the corner. The pain was minimal, a slight throbbing at best, so I walked six miles with my husband. Bad decision.
I was so proud of myself. There I was, walking my miles, moving my body, exercising like a boss. Yeah, I was on fire, y’all. That is until I woke up this morning and could barely stand up straight. My back seized up on me, and now, I can barely walk to the bathroom. Yesterday, I was on fire, but today… today, I can’t even find an ember.
My back pain is a nagging reminder that I have yet to heal, despite my desires to push past the pain and be normal. The pain cries out for my respect: “Do what I say, or I will knock you on your butt.”
Okay, Pain, you win. I’ll rest.
Have you been there? Have you pushed past something painful because you didn’t have time to deal with it? Have you said, “Not now, Pain, I have too much to do?”
We all do it: push past something difficult, push down the unbearable, keep on trucking until we get a flat. Then, perhaps you keep on driving on that flat until all of your tires burn out. Burn Out… yep, that’s a real thing.
So, what about this healing I promised you? These great therapeutic tips that give you wisdom and make you healing masters… healing Jedi… whatever you want to call it. I hate to burst your bubble, friend, but healing is not some formulaic device. It’s not a math equation that works every time in every situation. In fact, we don’t always heal when we get hurt. Kinda dumb, I know.
What I have learned is healing comes and goes like the tide, which sound peaceful, but it isn’t. Have you ever been taken down by a wave and lost your senses: unable to find the surface of the water? It is not peaceful. It’s flipping terrifying.
Somehow, if you’re lucky, you find yourself above the crashing wave, gasping and choking, looking two shades of spastic. Then, another wave tosses you back under.
“Really, I just survived this!” You scream inside your head.
But the waves keep coming. They don’t stop. You think you're drowning. In fact, you know you are. Panic claws at the back of your throat, and you try to scream, but there’s too much water. You’re about to give up. You can’t keep fighting any longer.
And… that’s when a strong hand pulls you up above the water. When you breach the surface, once more, you’re coughing up water and shivering from the absolute terror you just survived. Somehow you find the energy to thank your hero from saving you from certain death.
He smiles and stands you up on the water beside him. How are you able to stand there? Why aren’t you sinking? Because, its not your power that holds you up above the waves. It’s your faith… your surrender.
That is the first step in healing… surrender.
You cannot heal on your own. Sure, you can rest and take your medicine. But that doesn’t guarantee you’re going to heal completely. Not really. It all comes down to something, or someone, greater than you to help you heal. It all comes down to a savior. Someone willing to face the waves for you. Someone willing to pull you out of the tumultuous sea. Someone who walks on water.
So, in the end, healing is in fact a process. It’s recognizing you’re sick. It’s understanding you can only do so much. It’s stopping and resting in the truth: you are not capable of running on empty forever.
Make the choice, once and for all. Release your suffering. Relax your grasp over what is killing you. Surrender it all. Only then, will you know forgiveness. Only then, will you know growth. Only then, will you know what it truly means to heal. And when you find yourself working through this cycle of recycled grace, only then, will you learn what it means to have authentic peace.
