One day I was cutting up an avocado for a sandwich. The avocado was more ripe than I expected and when I pressed the knife down it punctured my palm....badly.
My initial reaction was to grab a towel. I squeezed my hand together, trying to suppress the gush of blood. The first few moments after an injury like that are usually masked with the thumping presence of adrenaline. I remember feeling pain but it didn't register as, "OH MAN THIS HURTS REALLY REALLY BAD" until several minutes later.
When I realized the knife had cut my hand pretty deep, I thought I would need stitches. I also had a final exam a few hours later and freaked out at the thought of taking it with my bloody palm.
Slowly but surely my wound stopped gushing. I borrowed some medical tape from my neighbors and bandaged myself up the best I could. My hand looked like the parted red sea, but alas, it seemed I was no longer on death's doorstep. (Stitches would have probably been a good idea...but hey...college kids dont got time for dat.)
You know how you forget how much you use something until it's immobile? You forget how great automatic steering is until yours goes out. You forget how great a can opener is until yours breaks and your Campbell's is whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
The hours following my hand injury were plagued with, "Oh crap. How am I going to do that now? I'm missing a hand." Taking my exam ended up being the worst fifty five minutes of my life. Try bubbling in an answer key with a cut from here to New Zealand on your palm. It was bad. Not to mention, I couldn't focus on anything. All my brainwaves spoke the same message repeatedly. PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN.
Days pass. I go from gauze to a butterfly band aide. Every action no longer requires a complete thought on how I'm going to do it differently. I look back on my *somewhat* dramatic reaction and think, "Maybe I overreacted. It wasn't as bad as it seemed in that moment." Soon I get a beautiful scab. Unfortunately it gets knocked off by my attempt to squeeze a barbell. Bad decision making. Another scab shows up later and all is well.
Weeks pass. I look down at my hand one day and realize my scab is gone. A jagged little white scar has appeared where my life-altering wound once lay. It's amazing how our body works. Our tissues and blood cells are experts in the art of healing.
Thankfully, our souls work the same way.
When someone hurts you, the initial reaction is sometimes numbing. When reality sets in, distress is overwhelming. Why did this happen? Why did they do that? Is this really happening? I feel horrible. How can I ever get over this? I won't get over this.
Every day your distress sits upon your spirit like a heavy weight. Everything is affected by it's presence. You want to forget it away, but it's there and going nowhere fast.
Yet, it doesn't last forever. One day you realize you went the entire day without tearing up over absolutely nothing. You realize you enjoyed yourself without thinking about him or her or that. At one point you swore you'd always feel this way inside. Now, hope sparks up. You see a photo that doesn't make you cry, thinking about the good times it represented. A song is played, and you sing along without hearing your emo alter-ego's annoying banter about how they always loved that song. You let things go and take steps forward. It's hard but good.
Months pass. You thought it would be years. You hear the "trigger words" and are OK. Words that upon hearing them, used to bring vicious memories and images of a time long gone. You've been given a clean slate, and these words no longer hold a bitter stigma. The locust years are being replaced, just as He said they would.
The other day I looked down at my palm. Not even a scar remains. Every hint of past pain has been completely erased. Time is always up to something good. You can't rewind it, but you can't stop it either. You think some scars will never heal, but wake up one day and realize everything has changed.
