Dear Reader,
I downloaded a book called 'When Women were Birds: 54 Variations on Voice'. The writer is a Mormon woman whose mother has died. In Mormon tradition, mothers keep journals to give to their daughters. A chronicle of their lives. A voice that reaches down and steadies the daughter. This daughter has received empty journals. Nothing is written on them. The book is about the daughter's grief and her grappling with the journals. What is she supposed to think?
As I read through this I am reminded once again that all of us carry pain. Her pain is grief and loss over her mother, a strong woman in a traditional church culture, who just kept going until it was her time to die.
We are all wounded. We all are hurting, limping even. We may feel alone and overwhelmed and have an unspoken broken but we are not victims.
You are not a victim, you are a survivor. You're more than that. You are a thriver.
You may not feel like it but you are...how you just keep your chin up and living bravely through the hurt and how you keep taking one step out of bed and another step through the door.
You are scaling the mountain by stepping forward.
You may bleed but you rise.
What I really want to say to the countless women who endure unfathomable atrocities is that your wounds are seen. Jesus sees them and it's okay.
He sees the wounds. He sees the passing flicker in your eyes, old pain shooting through you.
But mostly, quietly, the scars surround you. They become you, who you are are. They just become the way skin pulls mottled and raised over your soul. This is how you fit.
How can you look healed and thickened and still feel so thin? Yeah, I know.
If someone brushes up a certain way? You are blue tender and sore all over again and just spill out with little sound.
I want you to know, I want to reach out and touch, glance, acknowledge your pain. You don't have to say anything, explain anything, excuse anything. I just want you to know that someone sees it all.
I want you to know that wounded warriors win in the end. There is no remission of sin or the crossing of finishing lines without things getting bloody.
You are so brave to keep facing the light. To keep walking toward home.
The Scarred Savior will know you are His - by your own scars.
And when he cups your face, that moment when His scars touch your skin? You will be wholly healed.
You are needed. You make the Body of Christ sensitive. Those who have been wounded know how to heal.
Birds have voices. They are small, beautiful messengers like you.
If you listen to bird's chirps you have listened to its heart. If you have listened and noticed, the birds always turn towards the light and fly.
I downloaded a book called 'When Women were Birds: 54 Variations on Voice'. The writer is a Mormon woman whose mother has died. In Mormon tradition, mothers keep journals to give to their daughters. A chronicle of their lives. A voice that reaches down and steadies the daughter. This daughter has received empty journals. Nothing is written on them. The book is about the daughter's grief and her grappling with the journals. What is she supposed to think?
As I read through this I am reminded once again that all of us carry pain. Her pain is grief and loss over her mother, a strong woman in a traditional church culture, who just kept going until it was her time to die.
We are all wounded. We all are hurting, limping even. We may feel alone and overwhelmed and have an unspoken broken but we are not victims.
You are not a victim, you are a survivor. You're more than that. You are a thriver.
You may not feel like it but you are...how you just keep your chin up and living bravely through the hurt and how you keep taking one step out of bed and another step through the door.
You are scaling the mountain by stepping forward.
You may bleed but you rise.
What I really want to say to the countless women who endure unfathomable atrocities is that your wounds are seen. Jesus sees them and it's okay.
He sees the wounds. He sees the passing flicker in your eyes, old pain shooting through you.
But mostly, quietly, the scars surround you. They become you, who you are are. They just become the way skin pulls mottled and raised over your soul. This is how you fit.
How can you look healed and thickened and still feel so thin? Yeah, I know.
If someone brushes up a certain way? You are blue tender and sore all over again and just spill out with little sound.
I want you to know, I want to reach out and touch, glance, acknowledge your pain. You don't have to say anything, explain anything, excuse anything. I just want you to know that someone sees it all.
I want you to know that wounded warriors win in the end. There is no remission of sin or the crossing of finishing lines without things getting bloody.
You are so brave to keep facing the light. To keep walking toward home.
The Scarred Savior will know you are His - by your own scars.
And when he cups your face, that moment when His scars touch your skin? You will be wholly healed.
You are needed. You make the Body of Christ sensitive. Those who have been wounded know how to heal.
Birds have voices. They are small, beautiful messengers like you.
If you listen to bird's chirps you have listened to its heart. If you have listened and noticed, the birds always turn towards the light and fly.
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