I could hardly believe myself when Your truth shed light on what I’ve been doing.
I am such a fool. How could I take this long to realize that I’m not wounded anymore?
I’ve worn my woundedness like a shield against You. Like a right I have to remind You of times when You’ve allowed me to be hurt.
I’ve worn my woundedness like chains that secure me to invisible walls – walls that You’ve already torn down. Chains that have already been broken.
I’ve worn my woundedness like a crutch, limping around even after You’ve healed me of my affliction.
I’ve worn my woundedness like rags hung over a delicate silk dress, handmade and unique, its stench and tatters destroying what ought to be beautiful.
I loathed the ache that the wounds caused, but I relished my woundedness. I used it as my license to stumble, my license to not hold myself accountable to Your holy standards. I sought the understanding of man. I am the way I am because of my woundedness, you see. But You saw right through me. I was without excuse. All I was doing was let my woundedness continuously wound me.
I am such a fool.
But you are Light breaking through. There’s no hiding from You.
I am not wounded anymore. Scarred maybe, but no… not wounded.
The scars remain and they are glorious, for they reflect memories of Your healing power. The scars are remembrances of the victory You won when You delivered me from the miry pit and set my feet upon solid Rock.
The scars are there to remind me that WE WON.
I am now without excuse, because those You set free are free indeed. No. I can’t stop acting like a wounded warrior, because I’ve finally come face-to-face with Your reality.
I’m not wounded anymore.