It’s been 3,650 days. And throughout each and every single one of those days, sometimes minute-by-minute, I’ve learned about grief.
Grief is one of those tricky things that time cannot heal. Scars, in reality, are a mark of failure to fully heal (noun; a mark left on the skin or within body tissue where a wound, burn, or sore has not healed completely and fibrous connective tissue has developed).
Grief is like a scar on the heart. They can be covered, improved upon or serve as a simple afterthought-- until it’s not. After all, a scar is a reminder of something that has not completely healed.
All of the skincare in the world cannot take away a deep scar. For that, I am thankful. Over the last 10 years I’ve had many days where I’ve just wanted the grief to go away-- the reminders to fade. But, then, I look at a scar on my finger. It’s a reminder to slow down when chopping onions; to be less fervent in the kitchen. The scar serves as a lesson in patience. Just like the scar on my heart.
The grief and scar serve as a story and I get to choose how I tell that story-- do I wallow and mourn by myself in the dark? Or do I step into the light and move forward? When I crashed my bike in elementary school trying to be an Olympic mountain biker in my backyard I was left with a scar on my right leg. I could say the scar was from a horrific biking accident and I never touched my bike again out of fear. Or I could say I worked my way back to riding and not being scared.
The grief is a reminder to me that God is near and that is He is comfort. The grief is a reminder that time doesn’t heal, but time teaches. Time can change your perspective.
The scars on my heart will always be there and I’m thankful for the constant reminders that the Lord is faithful and people matter.
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