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Puzzled


Be careful what you wish for….

Or maybe, more accurately, be ready to welcome what comes with that wish.

Don’t be surprised when the path toward healing is marked with blood, sweat and tears.

Blood, because “surgery” is necessary and requires internal probing and cutting and stitching.

Sweat, because the business of healing the heart is gut-wrenching work if you’re serious about it.

Tears, because it hurts to pull your insides out and look at them for what they are and to know they can never be put back without Someone rearranging them.

Two thirds of the way through this ninety day journey has left me nearly speechless.  Overwhelmed by the process, surprised by the twists and turns that have taken place along the way.

I didn’t see it coming.  I thought I knew where I was headed with this journey.  Obviously, God knew that my good intentions were, at best, short sighted.  He knew that my vision was clouded by selfishness and fear, that perfectionism and the desire for control were tripping me up, leaving me flat on my face and no further ahead on the path than I was before.

And so, lovingly and with great care, He broke me, or rather just showed me my brokenness.  Brought me to my knees so that all I could see through the tears was His lovely face.  He sat with me in that crumbled, messy place of “letting go”, held my hand and interlaced His fingers with mine.

“This,” He said, “is where the real healing begins.  All the pieces on the floor, scattered, out of your hand, your “control”, seemingly random and separate.  Ready to be put back together the right way.  Now watch MY hands at work.  A picture will begin to emerge and you’ll start to see what wholeness really looks like. And it will take your breath away.”

He, of course, was right.

As the tears have begun to clear and the pieces are beginning to fit together so perfectly, an image is forming.  It looks different than what I had envisioned in my own mind’s eye.  It’s as if I was holding the puzzle’s box upside down this whole time.

I had seen my own face, thinking THAT was what this process of healing was all about.  Me.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The picture emerging doesn’t look anything like me.

It’s a face, but it’s not mine.  It’s His.

HE is my great physician and healer. By HIS wounds I am healed.  HE is the picture of health and wholeness.  HE is the end result.  HE is the destination and the reason for the journey.

The glorious, scattered mess is becoming something so much more lovely than I ever could have imagined.  I see His face like I’ve never seen it before.

If only I’d let go sooner….

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