Fifteen years ago today my young, courageous, beloved, beautiful Aunt Kathy died from a rare form of lymphoma. It bruised me. It scarred me really. And after all that time, and after living considerably longer without her than I did with her, you would think her death would no longer have an affect on me. But it does.
I think back to that time when I sat on my aunt and uncle's front porch with my mom crying, sobbing. And while in my tenth year of living, I didn't understand giant theological terms, there on the porch swing I began to see what the sovereignty of God really meant. I could say with certainty that God loved me and had a plan for my life specifically (Romans 8:28).
That's where the healing began, where things began to scab over.
But there's still a bruise, there's still a scar.
And then there are other lacerations in life, like the death of friendship, a relationship. Maybe they just break a few layers of skin, but they still cause pain.
I love the words an emerging singer/ songwriter friend: "I am bruised. I am bruised, but I choose to be well again."
It's one of those things like Paul says in Philippians 3:13, "forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead."
That's the choosing to be well again.
Fifteen years ago I didn't understand God's ability to use things in our life to mold us. To change us. To sanctify us. And I don't entirely understand now. But I do know that those bruises and scars are reminders to press ahead-- to not dwell in the misery of fifteen years ago again, but to continue to trust God has a purpose and a plan. They are reminders to choose to be well again.