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When I was 13, I fell in the woods and was impaled by a stick. I promise to leave out the gory details. Suffice it to say, a well-meaning adult tried to pull it out; that didn’t work. There followed several (painful) hours trying to get out the chunk of wood. Eventually I went to the ER, where the doctor made a small incision and removed it. Easy peasy.

When we’re wounded, well-meaning people sometimes do more harm than good. So if we’re approaching another person in trauma, we have to tread carefully. See Job’s friends, whose comfort and counsel was utterly incorrect (Job 42:7). Surely it can’t have helped Job in his misery for them to come along and insist he must have brought it on himself through some hidden or overlooked sin. 

There are times when we need a professional to do expert surgery. What makes sense to us is actually not the best course of treatment. We put our trust in someone else to do for us what we can’t do for ourselves (Ephesians 2:8-9).

There’s a little more to my stick story. The stick had actually gone all the way to the bone, so in order to heal properly, the wound had to be kept open so that everything could grow back from the inside out. In my case, the injury reached a point when it stopped getting better. A return to the doctor showed that there was a tiny, tiny bit of wood still in my leg. The body was using all its tools to get it out without success – it was too deep to do it without help.

When our wounds are very deep, we need to expect that they will heal slowly, getting smaller over time. But sometimes there’s something that hasn’t been dealt with, and that will keep us from healing. Then we may become angry, inflamed, sensitive to the slightest touch. It’s our mechanism for trying to work out what’s still causing us pain. Even after time has passed, the old hurt can still linger and the old reactions flare up. We have to be willing to return to the expert, again and again if necessary, until He has completed the cure.

The scar on my leg isn’t pretty. Neither are the ones we carry on the inside. But they are evidence that we’ve survived and that we’re still here. They showcase the miraculous work of the Great Physician. They give us a story to tell in which we’re able to say, “The Lord stood with me and gave me strength” (2 Timothy 4:17).

I read this the other day from CS Lewis. He wasn’t writing about momming, but it sure spoke to my mama heart.

“Our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions. For this, so strangely unlike anything we can attribute to the divine life in itself, is apparently not only like, but IS, the divine life operating under human conditions.”

For myself, it’s relatively easy to be an imitator of Christ when there are no oppositions or irritations. If I could just get enough rest, or once the house is clean, or when they will just learn to pick up their own stuff – THEN I will be just the kind of person I strive to be. Except it never works out that way.

But Jesus. He really is just as I want to be, and He did it in the midst of clamoring and inconvenience and noise and hunger and outright opposition. And I’m reminded once again how much sanctifying work there is for grace to do in me.

And I’m grateful again that the Lord knew all that before He began the work. He knew I would be overwhelmed at times, that I would miss the mark repeatedly. And instead of giving up the whole thing as hopeless, He patiently, persistently stays by me.

This knowledge makes me want to stay the course. It strengthens my determination. I don’t want to give it all up as too hard when He has never given up on me.