How Bruises Become Balm

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse.“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” From The Velveteen Rabbit, by Marjorie Williams

"Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: 'These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God's eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting belief'.” Henri Nouwen

“God in Christ has taken into Himself the brokenness of the human condition. Hence, human woundedness, brokenness, death itself are transformed from dead ends to doorways into Life. In the divinizing humanity of Christ, bruises become balm.” Martin Laird

 

Looking at little Judy on her birthday evokes both joy and tenderness. Joy for her exuberance over her Barbie Bundt-dress cake, lovingly crafted by her mom! And tenderness for her journey ahead.
 
How she’ll resent her resentments, fear her fears and bruise her own bruises. Like all of us, she will fail in her efforts to procure peace, affection, and security. When her strategies miscarry—as they must—she will turn on herself.
 
But, in time, her wounds will be her glory. And she will find her dead ends—her self-defeating schemes to make life work—become doorways to an expansive place where her belovedness soaks the air. How can this be? Jesus, only Jesus.
 
Happy birthday, little one.

JUDY

P.S. Is there a dead end in your life that could--with new eyes of compassion--become a doorway?