I’ve never understood the verse from the Bible that says, “When deep cries out to deep.” I’ve never known deep. What is deep? Is it the bottom of a sinkhole? Is is the deep end of the pool? Or is it the way someone describes a wound? A wound; cut so deep to the bone…piercing pain, severed and bleeding; a wound so deep that nothing seems to heal it.
My father cut his leg 2.5 months ago and it doesn’t seem to heal. His leg has become an allegory for my emotions and aching that I feel. Maybe his leg won’t heal because his heart won’t heal. The pain that the Dinah-wound has left hasn’t even began to scar over. I feel left open, bleeding, and infected with lies. You see, my Dinah-wound is big. My Dinah-wound is cut to the bone. My Dinah-wound is infected with lies that have been whispered into my ear over and over and over again. “This is your fault, Jackie. You could have prevented this.” “Where were you for her.” “Didn’t you see the pain and anguish that she was feeling.” “You could have stopped this.” What kind of sister are you?”
My ears have heard these lies for too long. My heart has believed them. I can’t live like this. I know these are lies but yet I turn my ear to them. It’s so easy to blame yourself even when things are completely outside your control. You see, blaming myself has only pushed the grief farther down. It’s only made me angry and doesn’t let me get to the part where the true healing comes. My Dinah-wound is just beginning to heal. I see the tissue begin to repair and rebuild. I see the infection begin to disappear. I see the blood drying over and the scab beginning to form.
Dinah left without saying goodbye. The devastation that she must have felt must compare to the devastation that my family and I feel with her loss. They say that at a year you should be getting over your grief, but I feel like mine has just begun.
The crushed and pierced hands of my Savior are fixing me. They are reaching down into the deepest parts of my wound and with each “stitch” they are grabbing the flesh and pulling it back together.
My Dinah-wound will never look pretty. It will never look like it did before. The scar will always be there to invite questions from strangers and glances from people who knew what happened.
Dinah took her life and with it she took everything. Everything that I once was.
This last year I have buried myself into my own personal cocoon. It’s comfortable in here. The walls of my cocoon protect. The walls of my cocoon keep me from moving on. My walls keep me from accepting that my sister is gone. Gone forever.
However, my Savior is with me and has reached His wounded hands into my walls and is forcing me to come out. The patterns on my wings tell of my story. The scars on my body tell of my hurt.
There will be no open wound when He is finished with me. My Dinah-wound will heal into a perfect scar and will only add to the beauty of the butterfly that God is creating out of me.
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