Healing

Now is the time of year, when the weather starts warming up, that many people get sick. Our family is no exception. It began Tuesday morning with our son throwing up. At noon we got a call from school saying to please pick up our daughter because she had thrown up. We had been hoping that the kids were sick because they had eaten some bad coconut the day before, but Tuesday night was my turn in the bathroom, and Wednesday night Bruce’s. I suppose this wasn’t really surprising as two ladies had gone home early from the service Sunday night because they had been sick. The nice thing so far is that it only seems to last a day or so.

I am a confirmed work-a-holic, though. Even though I had been sick Tuesday night, I went into work for four hours on Wednesday. There was work there to be done, and I needed to get in to do it. I slept for the rest of Wednesday, and did both school and work today. But I worked until 9:30 tonight, too.

I wonder sometimes what makes me to work like this. Because, the funny thing is, I have these voices that tell me that I am a lazy person. I remember hearing this when I was younger. It was more indirectly than directly then. It was usually a grandparent making a comment about “these young people nowadays!” And not very long ago I had someone actually accuse me of being lazy. Well, sort of. Not in so many words. But the things I was accused of basically said that. Lazy, manipulative, irresponsible, good-for-nothing. . . . No, wait a minute. The words, “the laziest person she knew” had actually been said.

You know what? Those words were said over a year ago. And they still hurt deeply. I have been trying to remove them. But it’s as though they have wormed their way into me and become a part of anger and bitterness. They are things I know I shouldn’t hold onto, and yet I can’t seem to let them go. And when the conversation plays in my head, it’s like a tape recording rewinding and replaying over and over again. What do I get out of it? A sense of justification? The right to be angry? Being able to play the role of a victim? Where does that get me? Nowhere. What does that get me? Nothing. So WHY? Why can’t I just let go? Why can’t I forgive? I don’t want this anymore. And yet, I can feel that I don’t CHOOSE to forgive.

Maybe it goes with being a broken people. I am a broken person. I am sick, and need healing. Of more than just body. I need healing of soul, too.

Lord have mercy on me.