Jagged and raw, my wound lays open. My senses become dull. Nerves that should connect me to the world now scream and isolate me. Pain becomes my prison and I am alone. I sit in the dark, curled into a ball, crying out without knowing if anyone hears. How long has it been?
My eyes are still squeezed tightly shut but I sense light. I feel arms holding me, hands stroking my face. As I focus on the comforting touches, the stranglehold pain has held loosens. I breathe more freely and the healing grows. Too weak to move, I collapse into his embrace.
How long has he been here? Was he here all along? My head begins to clear and the world comes back into focus. I see the arms that hold me. The soft hands that touch me are strong, with scars carved deep into them. I struggle to shake free and stand on my own, but his whisper tells me to rest.
Jesus patiently comforts me. In his arms, everything melts away. Gazing into his eyes, the prison disappears and peace flows through me. My strength builds until he says the time has come. I rise more than healed, I am restored.
I ask “Why did you allow the pain to happen? Why didn’t you heal me faster?” A gentle smile is the only answer. That’s OK. It is well with my soul.
