Scars

Just when I thought the wound was healed, scab was gone, with no visible scar, bam! One small comment, one random reference, and the pain comes flooding back without warning, and I am struggling to hold back the tears and to focus on the present, my breath quickens and gets more shallow, and the all-too familiar panic sets in. The speed and sinister ability to snake its way into my heart and my soul, to hijack my emotions and my thoughts, positively astounds and frightens me. It is as if I have no control over what will trigger fears and emotions, and perhaps I do not have any control over those impulses. Intellectually I KNOW why it happens. I have read and studied the wonderful mysteries of the brain: its parts, its functions, the rapidity of its processes, and the way my experiences shape my memories and affect my responses to things, responses that occur in nanoseconds before I am even aware of what is happening. But that does nothing to prepare me for how suddenly I am a quivering mess. 

Yes, that happened today...it started out as a conversation about being Christian in a fallen world, which evolved into how to evangelize to non-believers, first friends, then family. Sharing concern over the heartbreak of knowing loved ones are not believers, how they may not be able to articulate what they believe, we spoke about how we deal with the insecurity, the not-knowing, and how my only recourse sometimes is to pray, to love, to reflect Christ. Next thing I know, the conversation shifted to talking about our family, bringing up memories of family members who are no longer in our lives. Within a fraction of a second, I am sucked back into the vortex of pain and betrayal and hate and vitriol that have characterized my life over the past four years. And as we drive to lunch, my husband purposely exaggerating the curves to thrill our three granddaughters, it takes every ounce of self-control, and frantic, silent prayers for over 30 minutes, to quell the panic and anxiety that have exploded without any notice, pain so searing and hot even the giggling, gleeful screams emanating from the back seat do not snap me out of it.

Absolutely mind-boggling how fast it all happens, how helpless I am, how quickly I succumb to the fear and the panic, evidence that, though I KNOW to lean on Jesus, to give it all to him, to trust Him, I still forget. And I wonder if the scars will ever completely heal and disappear, and not be a source of unexpected, savage pain, and that I will someday finally be able to breathe and not dread that some minuscule thing--a word, a picture, a smell, a sound--will hit that scar and release the pain all over again

I am so broken and lost. Despite all my brave words, my prayers, and my brave face I wear, the only thing holding me together is God's grace. His wonderful, precious, free grace.