Pulling up the Pant legs.....

So often, fingers are brought to the keyboard when there is a flow to the words.  When a thought has been formed and a direction is known.  Tonight, I'm writing knowing that the "t" hasn't been crossed and by surely the "i" still needs dotting.

It's not going to be my most pretty writing.  But what it will be is a glimpse of where I am today.

I am needing some authenticity.

Today, I spent the day in an outpatient wound clinic.  It was a whole lot of bandages.  A whole lot of  oozing all types of different things.  And a variety of smells.  I mean.... a VARIETY of smells.  It didn't matter how pretty or nice the pants were that covered the dressings.  Underneath it all were wounds needing care.  Some wounds came from accidents.  Others from disease.  Some from poor health decisions.  And others remained despite hyper vigilant care and attention.

Taken from the internet

All needed to be cleansed.
First with soapy water.
Then, for most, scraped with a metal tool.
In the scraping, the not healthy tissue is removed.  The healthy is challenged.

In the scraping,  healing is given a chance.

It wasn't the smells that got me as I drove home or the variety of colors of pus that I saw today.

It was the pant covers and the wraps.

No matter how nice or how dirty they were... a decision was still made by each individual that came to allow someone to pull up their pant legs
to take off the dressings
to let their wounds be cleansed
scraped.
to be looked at
to let light shine on
to be covered again.

allowing the healing to continue.

Because for all of the wounds I saw today, the healing doesn't come in one visit.

But rather, it comes with each time the person allows someone else to pull up their pant leg.
To take off their dressing.  Each day that they make the choose to elevate their leg or apply a medication that they've been prescribed.  It's a lot of different little decisions of saying yes.  Of choosing to do.  Of simply choosing.  Even when the simply doesn't seem so simple.

The truth is.  My heart has been a struggling.  It's been hurting.  It's been trying to figure out this new normal.

And it's also been refusing to let the bandage remover do what He does best.

Remove.

Cleanse.

Bandage up.

And well, when a wound is kept in the dark.  When it's left to itself.  It almost never gets better.  It gets angry.  Really stinky.  And really full of drainage.   And the journey towards healing takes that much longer.

taken from the internet

Last night, I sat with a friend and ugly cried my way to the Throne.
And had to acknowledge fully that I refused to let Him remove the bandage.
And I had to make a choice to say yes.  Yes, to his lifting of my pants leg today.


I'm still in the wound clinic.

I mean, in reality, I'm sitting on my couch with a naughty little puppy being a stinker.   But in my heart, I'm at the wound clinic.  My leg is propped up and I've just begun to allow Him to pull up the pant leg of my hurting heart.

And so, that is where my fingers stop typing.  I'm sure that I'll have more to say. But for now, I stop.

I'm thankful He is patient with me.