The Fact is Feeling’s Aren’t Final

My earliest memory is this crazy fall I took shortly before my sixth birthday. My hands slipped from the monkey bars at my parent's old house, and it resulted in almost eighty stitches to my leg. I can retell so many details of that night with vivid clarity. My mom annoyed paramedics by telling them they couldn't touch me until she prayed over me. I had a jumping jacks part in that spring school performance, which I had to sit out. That friend's birthday party at a bounce place that my mom had to push me into while I sat in a stroller.

My dad was there that night. He was the first to reach me at the bottom of those outside patio stairs. He picked me up and carried me to that galley kitchen, laying me on the floor while my mom called 911. I remember him there, speaking softly to me as a distraction while they cleaned the wound at the hospital and stitched me up. He carried me out of the emergency room hours later, straight to my inconsolable sister in the waiting room. I remember looking up at him as I hugged her, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

But it's that night after we got home that stands out in my memories the most. I looked out that big window as I watched him carry that old saw out to that metal playset in their backyard.

My Father was going to fix that which had broken me.

Every Father's Day, there's a Facebook memory that pops up with a post I made many Father's Days ago, recognizing that core memory at an early age that served to teach me just what a blessing I have in that quiet, tender-hearted man of a Father I've been given on this earth.

Even when I didn't recognize the cause of the situation, my Father already had a remedy to rectify that which had hurt me.

Some situations occur in our lives that we may never understand. And often, no matter how many ways our minds dissect the events that may have happened, we find ourselves further confused. We can't understand why some things end as they do or why disappointments catch you off guard. Maybe people you assumed were permanent fixtures in your life suddenly just aren't there anymore.

You must allow yourself to feel in order to heal. But don't allow those feelings to become facts.

It's not a fact that sadness is a valley that you have to build the home of your heart. That's a feeling. It's a fact that it's a valley you need only pass through without intending to stay for an extended period.

It's not a fact that you should live in anger, no matter how validated your emotions may be. That's a feeling. It's a fact that anger leads to bitterness, and where bitterness resides, there's no occupancy for forgiveness.

It's not a fact that everyone in your life is temporary. That's a feeling. It's a fact that God has specific people in your life for a purpose. While some may have only been for a season, there was always a reason.

It's not a fact that God your Father hasn't seen your brokenness. That's a feeling.

And feelings aren't facts.

As I physically and visually learned with my earthly father those twenty-seven years ago following that traumatic fall off those monkey bars, I've learned the same to be true with my Heavenly Father.

God doesn't only see you in your brokenness; He finds you in your brokenness.

I still bear that giant scar beneath the knee on my left leg, leaving much of the area numb to the touch, but I've since healed and fully recovered. It's a scar that few have seen. But I found before the scar even had time to form that my father carried me to the safe place that offered my healing.

Scars can't be erased. I've learned that. After much money spent and many products researched and tried, I've found no topical ointment, oil, or lotion to remove what has been etched on who I am.

But the scar is part of my story. You see, if the hurt had never happened, the healing wouldn't have either. That scar isn't my identity, but it's helped form me into who I am today. It taught me at a young age who I could depend upon. Who carried me. Who aided in my recovery and who helped me to find the healing I so desperately needed.

The problem with wounds is that once they begin to heal, the scab can be easily removed, and you find yourself returning to the beginning of the healing process. You just can't forget about the wound at the peak of the healing. It's fragile.

I've been there. Fragile. Emotional and mental wounds, scabs that have been picked at until the inevitable scars have formed, leaving a permanent mark on my life. There are memories and moments I've wished to forget.

The scars can either be viewed as damaging, or they can be considered a part of your story, too. They don't have to be your identity but a part of your story, and one day, somebody will need to hear you tell that story.

Some wounds can only find relief through a Holy kind of healing. A balm that only God can provide. One that must be applied and reapplied lest infection set in. It's time to allow Him to apply the salve your soul craves.

You may have been hurt, but you can also find healing.

And that’s far more than merely a feeling. That’s a fact that can be final.