If aliens ever abduct me and scan my body to study humanoid anatomy, they’re gonna scratch their little green heads in wonder. I’m a confusing specimen, for sure.
Once again in “recovery mode” from surgery, I’m beginning to feel like I’m held together with baling wire and duct tape. But like those banged-up World War II bombers in old movies, somehow I stay in the air.
My surgeries have been for niggling conditions. All the really important stuff – those organs you just can’t leave home without – seem to be doing fine, and I’m very thankful for that. I’m also incredibly grateful for the fine doctors who’ve poked, prodded, diagnosed, sawed and stitched me. How difficult my life would be if medical care were unavailable here, as it is in so many parts of the world.
What if, like Humpty Dumpty, nobody could “put me back together again” and I had to drag around a body with parts that needed to be removed or repaired? Ugh.
While I’m grateful for the blessings of modern medicine, I’m aware that my body must look a bit strange inside. Not that I would ever want to see it…EVER…but underneath my skin, the landscape must look like a crazy maze of stitches, scars and missing pieces.
The truth is that nobody gets through life in this fallen world without some stitches, scars and missing pieces – perhaps not physically, but certainly emotionally.
Who among us has escaped pain in this life? Even those who enjoy relatively cushy circumstances cannot completely insulate themselves from heartache. There are no “get-out-of-hurt” cards in this game. People disappoint us, abandon us, and betray our trust. Stressful circumstances weigh down and close in upon us all.
Life in this world is not for sissies, and even tough guys often crawl across the finish line.
Does anyone reach middle age without feeling like he or she has lost a few pieces along the way? A dream that didn’t quite come true, a relationship that wasn’t nurtured enough, an opportunity left unexplored, a talent left undeveloped. Possibilities tossed overboard as we sailed the stormy seas of life.
I’ll say it straight up — I couldn’t stand it all without Jesus. The stitches, scars and missing pieces would be too much to bear.
“Jesus is just a crutch,” critics say.
Hey, that’s okay. I’m crippled and I sorely need a crutch…and so do you.
We’re all scarred, stitched, missing a few pieces, and in need of the One who offers comfort and strength for this life and perfect wholeness in the next.
As author Bob Sorge writes: “…the forces of hell are conquered by a weak and dependent church. This church does not conquer by God using His overriding power to sovereignly blast through every obstacle as soon as it surfaces. Instead, they persevere through calamity and pain and crisis, but in the end they have a testimony of the unfailing grace of God, and Satan is defeated by the most pitiful army you’ve ever seen. God in His grace has upended His rival with broken, wounded, faithful lovers of Jesus Christ.” (The Fire of God’s Love, Oasis House Publishing)
Broken, wounded…and faithful. Held together, not with baling wire and duct tape, but with irrepressible hope, tenacious faith, and amazing grace.
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” – Romans 8:18