Set You as Seal/Grandpa's Stitches
When I was eight years old I went on vacation with my aunt and grandparents to Mississippi to visit family. One day I was taking a walk with my aunt and I tripped on the sidewalk and fell. I busted my thigh open pretty badly. Instantly I was screaming and crying and completely going crazy.
My aunt got me back to my great aunt and uncle's house and my grandpa started trying to look at the cut. It was a pretty bad wound and really needed stitches. But I wouldn't hear of that.
I was hollering and carrying on something fierce. The blood was scaring me. My thigh was hurting really bad. I was terrified of needles so the prospect of being "stitched up" was not a soothing idea in the moment. I was fighting everyone and telling them all I would not go to the hospital. No amount of pleading or convincing was going to change my mind. And considering I was in a house full of elderly people, no one there was physically capable of picking me up and forcing me to go.
My grandpa kept telling me that I had to be still and let him clean out the wound. I had to let him see how deep it was. He kept trying to reassure me that if I held still and let him stop the bleeding it might not be as bad as they thought, but I had to let him see it.
Eventually I calmed down enough to let him clean me up, and it was confirmed by all present that I really did need stitches. Yet still I refused to go to a doctor. I said I would let Grandpa bandage me, but I did not want stitches.
I won the battle.
Twenty years later, Grandpa saw that scar on my leg and scolded me for the millionth time for not letting him take me to the hospital to get that healed up right. He said that I wouldn't have a scar now if I had let him take me then.
I laughed, as I cringed still at the thought of stitches, and told him now I have a souvenir that will last a lifetime from that vacation. I have a memory that has imprinted itself on my body-like a tattoo or a seal.
For years that was a memory of pain and fear and trauma. Now, with Grandpa gone, it's a memory of him trying to heal me; trying to make it all better. It's a memory of pain, surrounded by love.
When I first realized that Grandpa was leaving us and there was no way to fix it, I felt like I did when I first hit the sidewalk in Mississippi. A shocked and scared eight year old little girl trying to figure out what just happened. Then, just as when I saw all the blood pouring out...only this time it was his life fading away...I was terrified and panicked.
Next came the pain; blinding, throbbing pain that was accompanied by earth-shattering screams overcame me. The little girl within screamed and thrashed and fought with all her might. But it was to no avail, this battle I lost. And he was gone.
In the months since, I have fought the urgings and promptings to go before the Lord, my Chief Physician and Healer, and allow this wound to be cleaned out and stitched up proper. I don't know if I am waiting for Grandpa's hands to come and make it better again. Or his calming words to reassure me that it won't be as bad as it seems. Or if I'm relying on time to heal me.
But I find myself facing the same dilemma as I did at eight. How do I find healing without adding to the pain?
Will this wound eventually, slowly close up like my leg did? Will I be scarred for life because I let it go for so long without the proper attention to my healing and well-being? And is this a scar I may want to have? Another seal of Grandpa on my life?
My leg is a memory of pain surrounded by Grandpa's love. My heart scar is a memory of Grandpa's love surrounded by the most excruciating pain I've ever felt.
Will this scar be another souvenir of a great trip together and a blessed, long life of happiness and love? Or will it be an ugly scar that never heals, but only hurts-marring the beautiful memories with a veil of pain forever? Is it time to conquer my fear and see the Doctor? Or do I keep trying to control the situation and fight the healing touch?
As I reflect on this unbidden memory tonight and these questions that have followed, I hear my grandfather's voice clear as day..."You need to go to the hospital, Desaray." "This needs stitches. We need to see a doctor." "That leg never did heal right, if only you hadn't fought me so hard and just gone to the hospital..."
"Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death..." Song of Solomon 8:6
"And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you." 1 Peter 5:10
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalm 147:3
My aunt got me back to my great aunt and uncle's house and my grandpa started trying to look at the cut. It was a pretty bad wound and really needed stitches. But I wouldn't hear of that.
I was hollering and carrying on something fierce. The blood was scaring me. My thigh was hurting really bad. I was terrified of needles so the prospect of being "stitched up" was not a soothing idea in the moment. I was fighting everyone and telling them all I would not go to the hospital. No amount of pleading or convincing was going to change my mind. And considering I was in a house full of elderly people, no one there was physically capable of picking me up and forcing me to go.
My grandpa kept telling me that I had to be still and let him clean out the wound. I had to let him see how deep it was. He kept trying to reassure me that if I held still and let him stop the bleeding it might not be as bad as they thought, but I had to let him see it.
Eventually I calmed down enough to let him clean me up, and it was confirmed by all present that I really did need stitches. Yet still I refused to go to a doctor. I said I would let Grandpa bandage me, but I did not want stitches.
I won the battle.
Twenty years later, Grandpa saw that scar on my leg and scolded me for the millionth time for not letting him take me to the hospital to get that healed up right. He said that I wouldn't have a scar now if I had let him take me then.
I laughed, as I cringed still at the thought of stitches, and told him now I have a souvenir that will last a lifetime from that vacation. I have a memory that has imprinted itself on my body-like a tattoo or a seal.
For years that was a memory of pain and fear and trauma. Now, with Grandpa gone, it's a memory of him trying to heal me; trying to make it all better. It's a memory of pain, surrounded by love.
When I first realized that Grandpa was leaving us and there was no way to fix it, I felt like I did when I first hit the sidewalk in Mississippi. A shocked and scared eight year old little girl trying to figure out what just happened. Then, just as when I saw all the blood pouring out...only this time it was his life fading away...I was terrified and panicked.
Next came the pain; blinding, throbbing pain that was accompanied by earth-shattering screams overcame me. The little girl within screamed and thrashed and fought with all her might. But it was to no avail, this battle I lost. And he was gone.
In the months since, I have fought the urgings and promptings to go before the Lord, my Chief Physician and Healer, and allow this wound to be cleaned out and stitched up proper. I don't know if I am waiting for Grandpa's hands to come and make it better again. Or his calming words to reassure me that it won't be as bad as it seems. Or if I'm relying on time to heal me.
But I find myself facing the same dilemma as I did at eight. How do I find healing without adding to the pain?
Will this wound eventually, slowly close up like my leg did? Will I be scarred for life because I let it go for so long without the proper attention to my healing and well-being? And is this a scar I may want to have? Another seal of Grandpa on my life?
My leg is a memory of pain surrounded by Grandpa's love. My heart scar is a memory of Grandpa's love surrounded by the most excruciating pain I've ever felt.
Will this scar be another souvenir of a great trip together and a blessed, long life of happiness and love? Or will it be an ugly scar that never heals, but only hurts-marring the beautiful memories with a veil of pain forever? Is it time to conquer my fear and see the Doctor? Or do I keep trying to control the situation and fight the healing touch?
As I reflect on this unbidden memory tonight and these questions that have followed, I hear my grandfather's voice clear as day..."You need to go to the hospital, Desaray." "This needs stitches. We need to see a doctor." "That leg never did heal right, if only you hadn't fought me so hard and just gone to the hospital..."
"Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death..." Song of Solomon 8:6
"And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you." 1 Peter 5:10
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalm 147:3
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