A little over seven months ago, I found myself cluelessly embarking on a well-anticipated, week-long journey known as World Race Training Camp. I was following the Lord’s calling for my life, but other than that, I didn’t really know what the heck I was doing. And I certainly didn’t know that in one week of World Race preparation I would experience my Father’s presence in new, radical ways. Or that he’d begin a healing process so deep within me that it would eventually turn into the focal point of my heart (and its healing) for the first six months of my race.
It’s true that we’ve all experienced hurt in our lives. We may not realize it, but each one of us has wounds that we carry with us. Emotional baggage that stickies itself to the depths of our hearts like Milk Duds to our teeth. And these wounds, they can be difficult to face. Many times, we even prefer to avoid them. So we do just that. We push them away, pretend they’re not there, and get on with our lives.
And maybe these wounds create only small cavities at first. Cavities in our hearts that maybe only hurt a little. Cavities we can continue to ignore. But the pain isn’t really gone. It’s only been covered up.
Then, before we know it, without our consent, the wounds begin to grow. The rot spreads, and eventually those small cavities grow into canyons. Large holes in our hearts that feel almost incurable. Holes that feel hopeless and constant. They begin to affect us. They begin to take a tole on our well-being.
I came onto the Race with this kind of deep, seeping wound. A wound from my recent past that consumed my mind for at least a moment every single day for nearly a year. This wound, it had depths that even I could not understand. And every time I thought I was “over it,” this hurt had a way of tearing through the callouses I’d worked hard to entrench it in, forcing itself to the forefront of my mind. I wanted, so badly, to forget. To move on. To finally have freedom from the daily torment. From the pain.
I’d been able to ignore this deep hurt in my heart for five months. And then at training camp in July, Jesus allowed the pain to swell. He exposed the wound for what it was. He brought me to my knees before him, and he gave me healing and freedom. I was so grateful. I felt so loved by my Christ. And then I closed that area of my heart off. I “moved on,” ignoring any pain that still remained, unaware that Jesus had only healed a small portion, one canyon, of the wound.
It wasn’t until three months later, during Month 2 of the Race, that Jesus, again, allowed the rot in my heart to take over. And it was then that, with him, I began to understand my wound. Jesus let me know that the kind of healing I so desperately sought wouldn’t come in a single night of praise and worship in his presence. He let me know that he loved me enough to take it slow. He wanted the healing to be thorough. He wanted to hold my hand as we explored the depths of my wound together. He wanted me to better understand his love and gentleness. He wanted to give his daughter permanent healing and freedom, in just the right doses at just the right times.
I bore my wound openly. My teammates knew where I was and what was happening in my heart. I sought the Lord and pressed more and more into him as I patiently let him work in me. Come January, Jesus led me to dive deeper, to explore the further depths of my wound. With that came more pain, more confusion, and more longing, but he worked through all of that with me. I began to experience more freedom. Jesus was healing another canyon. And I was falling more in love with him.
Last week, Jesus gave me even greater freedom. The longing and hurt had surfaced again. But this time was different. I hadn’t been thinking about the wound for at least a few days when I awoke one morning from a dream that disturbed me. I was confused, and I couldn’t get the dream out of my mind for the next couple of hours. I took it before the Lord, surrendering it to him, and asked my Father for direction. I wanted to understand if this dream meant anything, and if it hadn’t, why was it tormenting me?
After only moments, my Father gave me a most beautiful vision. And he spoke to me. He told me it was time to move forward. He told me it was time to let go. That it was his time to begin preparing my heart for something more. For something he has promised is in store for my future. I came to understand that I’d been forgiven. Truly forgiven. And that it was time for me to fully give Jesus my wound and wounder. It was time to finally let him take all of my pain. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so loved.
“When the pain starts coming up, get comfortable.
Focus on Christ and his work on the cross.
In his death, he descended into the depths of abuse;
and he rose again to raise us up and out of it.
Place the cross on the heart as a physical representation of Christ’s cross
and make known your pain to him.
Let the ache flow into his wounding.
Let God gather up those emotions and unite them with Christ himself.
Let him bear the unbearable.
That’s why he came – to bear the power of sin.
Abuse was a sin imposed by another.
Let him have it.”
– Andrew Comiskey
Naked Surrender
