Trauma. I think my therapist said it best. “Trauma is like a bomb.” Indeed. A bomb that goes off right in the middle of life— leaving nothing untouched. Mangling, and wounding, and twisting, and shredding every.last.thing. in its path. And you can’t go back. You can’t undo. What is done is forever done.
You can move forward, you can bandage bleeding— but you never forget the moment of impact— or the many moments. You never forget the way that bomb ripped your heart in two. You never forget the vibration that intensified setting off ripples into all the places of your life. There will forever be a before. A before and an after with a clear line denoting what once was that seems never can be again. And some days it feels like the memories will overtake you. The fear. The anxiety. The broken edges left behind from this trauma explosion. It’s so much more than
we ever bargained for— you know? This is where hopelessness can seep in— If we let it. The despair of a life now marked by an unkind circumstance. Or— if we so choose— instead, hope can shine— through the broken places and tattered edges. Hope— because a Savior— One who has wandered the windy roads of brokenness and been battered and bruised by bombs of his own sort. Hope— because God— One who sees the weary heart of the wounded— One who takes the shattered pieces of a life that once was, a person that once was and gently places them back together— molding and shaping and creating something beautiful and valuable from the wreckage. The same? No. Not the same. Changed. And different. But maybe better altogether? Yes. Trauma— the bomb— that leaves an unmistakeable mark— But— there’s hope— hope still lighting the way— moving us forward— lovingly putting pressure on the wounds and stitching the parts back together. Painful and beautiful. A God who works in our grief and is found amidst our traumatic experiences.
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