I was impatient about my recovery just days after surgery. My mother made me a cup of hot tea. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat and sipped tea as if the world could wait. My mother quoted parts of Ecclesiastes 3 to me: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die…A time to weep, a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance. And a time to heal.”
The words unlocked a well deep inside me. Permission. Permission to let the healing begin. Suddenly I was a small child running to Father God with my cut finger. And bruised heart, and broken body, and sin-sick soul. Ready and willing to be in His hands – for the work to be wholly done in me, no matter how painful the tearing before the sewing, no matter how long the treatment.
“He alone can heal, and He delights to do it.” ~Charles Spurgeon
Things I’ll cherish from these past weeks: treasured gifts, cards, visits, meals and surgery survival kits from friends (thank you, thank you, thank you), B refusing to leave my side in the hospital, my sisters praying every second, receiving help and letting others minister to me (so good), pulling back and taking rest, time to pray and read, heart-to-heart talks with the husband, heart-to-heart talks with God, sweet time with my mother, watching Mary Poppins with Hope and singing every word, forgiveness, news that the tumor was benign, Poppy surprising Hope at her winter concert, a fish for Christmas, Rhema’s body-shaking giggles, releasing people from the expectations I unfairly put on them, the sorrow of this December and the need for restoration so real to me this Christmas… and joy in my Savior come down into the hurt of this world, to be God with us, to love us, to mend us.
All of this, healing.
I pray it for you also in this new year.
“Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me and I shall be saved…”