|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||||||
 |
 |
||
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
| And the Doctor says I’m slowing down the healing. I need to limp. I need to answer honestly that I have some questions too. I need to admit that I’m angry and scared and that I’m holding a grudge against so-and-so. I wear my worries like a second layer of clothing, hidden from others but something that keeps me nice and warm. I live as though I have no faith sometimes. I need to be honest about all of these things. I need to let myself limp. That doesn’t mean I need a wheelchair. I don’t have to tell everyone my problems. I don’t have to spill my guts to people who are depending on me for spiritual nurture. I don’t need to abdicate my role as teacher, mom or friend. There’s a time and place for everything. But, as Henri Nouwen helps me see, I am a wounded healer. Not so wounded that I can’t be a channel of God’s healing. But not so proud that I try to hide the wounds that are part of me. I limp. Lent helps me see that. And for that I’m grateful. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” II Cor. 12:9 Continued... |
|||||||||
| Back |
Page 2 of 10
|
||||||||
