Where do you find your healing? What is it that is the salve you need for the wounds you have endured? For some of you the fix may be temporary. And, for a season that might just be okay. Sometimes you may need a bridge to cover the gap between pain and real healing. Sometimes that bridge is poorly built and will collapse if we aren't cautious. It would be so easy to erect a bridge of straw and sticks that falls in a heap at the slightest huff and puff. Support beams made of beer bottles. Paved with shallow relationships. Trestles made of poor choices. And after each breath from the wolves of pain we try to rebuild it thinking maybe we need a few more bottles, a few more poor choices.
But eventually the real healing must take place. For me that healing comes from the Lord. But that healing doesn't come from an instantaneous touch. A cast has to be applied while the healing takes place from within.
Each of us experiences grief in a different way. Some of us travel our road of grief slowly but deeply. Others travel it more quickly. Just as we experience grief differently we also differ when it comes to what heals us. The Lord will not necessarily heal you the way he heals me. Work may help heal you. Spending time with family might be the balm. For me it has been obvious over the years as I've had this path of grief grow from a dirt road to an interstate. I need time with the children.
Children treat you the way you treat them when it comes to helping after a hurt. They help pick me up, dust me off, and try to take my mind off the pain. When I hurt the most I find the healing in the laughter of a child. The smiles are contagious.
I recently spent an evening with a friend who has two children. She explained to them that she was going to a dinner with Uncle Kevin and they would get to stay with a sitter for a little while. One of her children looked at her and said, "That's that man we like, isn't it?" And then followed that with, "When he gets here, he will come inside and give me a hug won't he?" You bet he will!
The next evening I decided to go out to the ballpark and watch my team play. I had an extra ticket but took no one with me as I'm working through trying to learn to be okay with being alone. But God knew I didn't need to be alone. I knew I would see some of my regulars at the park. And I look forward to seeing them and the ritual of hugs and handshakes that must occur before I climb the steps to my seat. But I didn't realize how much I needed a little bit more. Within about thirty minutes I saw some friends and their children and went to say hi. I got hugs from everyone and bright smiles from the kids that had to mirror mine. I said goodbye as I moved on to yet another group of friends and their children (working the room as my wife used to call it). As I sat down for a minute I looked up and the first group of friends came over also. My plan for a temporary visit ended in several innings of laughter with the children, as the adults took advantage of the very willing baby sitter! At one point one of the mothers reminded her child that Uncle Kevin might want to watch the game he paid to see. But she was mistaken. I was where I wanted to be. Playing with the littles and listening to the sounds of the game in the background. Playtime was the event I was there for. The ballpark was merely the setting.
As I return home I recognize that I have come home to an empty house. Soon I will shower and climb alone between the sheets and pray for a dream about my wife and daughter. I will probably shed a tear or two but, thanks to a group of children my pain became less than it would have been. Healing has begun and I'm overdosing in the merry hearts of those little ones.
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