As a child I remember several occasions that I got hurt and hid it. Playing in the garage with my cousins doing the tipical 6 year old things, lost in the world of imagination. I was quickly pulled from my fantacy world when a ten pound wheel rim belonging to one of the near by cars fell onto my thumb. Normally this would imediatly make a kid burst into tears and scream out for mom. Me? I told my cousins I needed to go to the bathroom and ran out of the room. They found me several minutes later hiding in a closet tears streaming down my face and my hand absolutly covered in blood.
Another time at age eight my brother, being ten years older than me, grabbed my ankles and began running around holding me upside down. While he thought I was screaming in delight I was trying not to scream out in pain. As he ran my long hair was getting caught under his feet and with each step he was ripping hair from my scalp. Finally he put me down. Smile on my face I somehow managed to hold back tears until he left. When my front door clicked shut I started sobbing. My mom was at a loss as to what was going on. I explained what just ACTUALLY happened. I remember watching my reflection in the mirror as she brushed handfuls of hair off of my head all the while asking why didn't I say anything.
These stories could go on. What amazes me is that I am finding I do the same thing as an adult. Not necessarily talking about physical injury...I don't find myself being dangled by my ankles and ran around the house at age 23 but I do find myself hiding injury. A friend snaps at me for no reason I swallow it. My mom starts treating me more like some random adult and less like her child I pretend all is well. My friend stops talking to me I step aside. At times it hurts worse then getting my hair ripped out but I put on a smile and hide. Why?
It's easier to have someone hurt me and for me to never to say anything. Then they don't have to carry the guilt of knowing I'm injured and it's by their hand. I can save them the hurt by carrying the wound alone. So I crawl into the closet within my heart holding this hurt and covering it in tears. Injuries can not be hidden for long.
In the physical sense wounds get infected, sometimes beyond repair. In the emotional bitterness starts to take root. The friend that snapped is now the friend I avoid. Mom is no longer the person I turn to for advice. And the friend that stopped talking to me slowly fades into the back ground. Soon I start to notice that I stopped truly connecting with people as a result of trying to avoid personal injury. Without connecting I soon start isolating myself before you know it this inner closet is now my home and this wound hurts worse then ever. I begin to wish someone would notice, notice that the smile on my face is a farce.
Tears streaming down my face the door of the closet begins to open and Jesus is standing in the threshold of my heart. Embarrassed to be seen in this much pain he enters anyway. Rather than exposing my injuries to everyone like my cousins did when they found me covered in blood all those years ago, God slowly begins to operate right where he found me. In the physical, when there's an infection they will at times amputate the infected limb, with God it's never to late. He will cut things off yes but that's just the root of bitterness. And in it's place is forgiveness.......I'm tired of hiding.
So God, I'm on your operating table...be gentle, I'm hurt enough as it is.
