GARDEN OF WOUNDS
Deep inside me are planted wounds. There were words spoken that cut deep to the very part of who I am and now as His light is gracefully shone upon these wounds I find myself embarrassingly exposed. Over the years I have meticulously watered these wounds and kept watch over them - my garden of wounds. I have built up a wall around these wounds and fed them. I have exposed them to the light of my glory and this garden of wounds have kept me deceivingly safe. When someone speaks a hurtful word or perhaps an outright lie, when the sting of rejection falls upon me once again, I add them to my garden. Not to say that I am proud of my garden or even that I desire its existence. I despise it. I want nothing more than its destruction. So much work goes into keeping up this garden! And do you know what a garden of festering wounds can do to those around it? So the walls go higher - so high that even those who innocently wander too close to the walls become mistrusted and eventually obliterated.
Then one day I hear you say, “Enough is enough”. Standing as watchman over my garden I see You in the distance and with all the strength I can muster I sound the alarm. I warn the wounds that you are coming and as I see you approaching I notice you are armed with a hoe and cultivator. I have resolved to the fact that I will stop at nothing to guard my wounds. My first line of defense is to dress myself accordingly. In my finest garments I approach you. The swearing words have ceased, the lustful thoughts are suppressed for the moment and my manipulative ways lie dormant. Putting my best foot forward I attempt to distract you from my wounds. I offer you a religious word or two. I speak a “praise the Lord” and raise my hands in a false offering of hope that you have not seen beyond my walls. You patiently wait for me and gently yet with authority you tear down the wall that has guarded my first wound. It repulses me to gaze upon it. Scattered about its core are several weeds that have sprouted around its center. There is a weed of anger, a weed of cursing, a weed of man-pleasing, a weed of fear, a weed of mistrust, a weed of lust, a weed of self-righteousness, a weed of contempt, and a weed of manipulation. I feel like I would rather die than see you look upon those weeds. You know my thoughts and gently you reply: “that is what you must do. Die. Die to anger, die to cursing, die to man-pleasing, die to fear, die to mistrust, die to lust, die to self-righteousness, die to contempt and die to manipulation. My wrinkled brow tells you that I do not understand. I tell you that I don’t know how to die to those sins. I don’t know how to stop taking enjoyment in such things. Taking me by the hand you strip my fine garments. I am unable to speak and I am unable to raise my hands. I have nothing. I have absolutely nothing. Racing through my mind are all those sins I have vowed to keep hidden from you - yet you see them and you even allow me to go through them. Taking the hoe you have in your hand you thrust it into the center of the wound and there before my eyes you unearth the root - SELF.
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