This post isn't an update so to speak, more just me wondering out loud.

This verse, by his wounds we have been healed, has been an important one to me in this journey. I've had 10 years of practice identifying with it through Nicole's cancer journey and her literal wounds, and the effects of treatment, blah blah blah, daily reminders, limits, etc that we'll never escape. Kind of like the chains that Jacob Marley is condemned to drag around in The Christmas Carol.

My own wounds are now nicely covered by hair. Hair that my kids kindly (not) tell me needs cut. But those wounds are still there. I've got 4 holes in my head that are still constantly tender and some long scars too. Mostly I don't notice them, until I sit down, or get tired, or run my hand over the left side of my head. I've offered people to feel them, no takers yet. I'm looking forward to children's sermons, trick or treating, and grandkids (but none of those too soon).

I need a name for these holes. Probably not. They're already very familiar to me. I'm sad that they aren't so evident to everyone else. I mean, after surgery when my head was full of staples I seriously looked like Frankenstein's Monster. The staples are gone, but the scars and holes will remain.

The scars and the holes are one thing. But superficial. Yes, I have come a long long way. I do not take that for granted in the least. I know that others that went through what Nicole went through and what I went through are no longer here to tell their story. And I have a long way to go yet too, I hope so anyway.

Yet, my wounds go deeper than the holes in my head. Wounds that leave me feeling grief and loss and sorrow. Not just for myself, but also for those who either with or without words have expressed that they miss the "old me" too. 

By his wounds we are healed. I feel a deeper connection to Jesus, not through glory or some spiritual high, but through sorrow. I also feel a deeper level of empathy for those who also walk wounded by sorrow. Blessed are those who mourn, indeed. 

I'm having trouble though with this resurrected Jesus. I mean, he's still wounded. And somehow Thomas knew that's what to expect. Good for him. I get it that the crucified Jesus was wounded beyond recognition. That makes sense. But the resurrected Jesus who was the first born of all creation, the first to put on the new eternal body, still carrying and proving his Lordship by his wounds?

I want my wounds gone. I want my sorrow gone, and my fear that "this is it, the best it's going to be" gone. I suppose I have always thought sorrow and joy were opposite experiences,  wounded and healed opposite. 

I've done so many funerals over the years and with hope and certitude quoted Isaiah 25, On that holy mountain, God will wipe away every tear. Sorrow will be no more. I have loved saying that.

I'm not so sure it's that easy. And truthfully I'm not sure I want to give up my sorrow. I want to hold it as a badge, a trophy to witness to all that I, and my family have gone through. Seems like giving up that sorrow would be a betrayal of even the miracles God has provided to get us through to this point. Sorrow is mine, and I've earned it. I want to feel joy, but I don't want to give up my sackcloth and ashes either.

I'm not sure it's a matter of "choice" anyhow.  

Jesus the resurrected Messiah carries his wounds into eternity. Joy probably doesn't mean much without sorrow. Maybe not opposites but true companions to each other, and to us. Maybe faith is the courage to let both reside, to find one through the other.

Charles Dickens told a marvelous story. The miracle happens around the Cratchit table, not a banquet hall, Scrooge joins the Cratchit's in their poverty. Scrooge find blessedness in his poverty of spirit. Tiny Tim still needs his crutch, and exclaims God bless us all, everyone.