Broken Like A Clavicle


My nephew broke his clavicle. Poor kid. It’s not a bone you can put in a cast and bang around in the same frenzied fashion a 3 year old is liken to these days. That means a soft arm sling and, surprisingly to me, no major pain medicine. Whaaaat?! Nothing for the pain? I protested. “Unfortunately, it needs to hurt,” the doctor told my sister-in-law, “so that he remembers it’s broken.”

It needs to hurt —–>so he remembers its broken —–>so that it can heal.

Hmph.

I feel God saying a similar thing to me this week. Jealousy coupled with a desire to be recognized left my soul broken like a clavicle. No hard cast for me, no banging about my business in the same frenzied fashion I’m liken to these days. So, God let it hurt. He let it sting to the degree that most of my thoughts fixated on it until I remembered I was broken. Isn’t pain like that? It takes our thoughts hostage, becomes the focal point until we deal with it. So, without any major medicine to anesthetize the pain (see: slander, gossip, justification, filling the void with anything…blogs, social media, food, shopping, fake friendship, or self loathing) eventually, I curled up with my journal and let my confession go before the Lord. And the regeneration of my soul began like the binding of broken bones.

Thanks, JD, for the soul picture this week. Glad you’re feeling better, kiddo.

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