I have been working on this piece of writing, off and on, for awhile now. Unlike my blog, where I just allow my soul to pour out through my fingertips, when I try to actually write something, I am never happy with it. I never feel like it’s done. So, this isn’t done. But it is fitting for today, so I will share it, in its undone, imperfect format.
Shortly after my son’s open heart surgery, his physical therapist taught me how to massage his scar. Scar massage is important because it keeps the skin pliable. It lessens the pain – helps the skin feel less tight with movement.
Over two years in with frequent massage, my son still gets anxious when I touch his scar. His defiant hands push mine away. He crosses his arms over his chest, protecting his most vulnerable area.
His body knows to protect itself. He knows, on some intimate level, that his chest was broken open; that where they sewed it back together, he is at his most fragile. It is human nature to protect the pieces of us that have been broken.
And yet. And yet. If we do not allow others near those broken places, we risk becoming hard. Unpliable. Inflexible.
I persist with massage, because I know, ultimately, it will help him continue to heal. It will help his body move with less discomfort. And, it will make our relationship stronger, build our trust to an even greater degree.
And so it is for all of us, in our brokenness, when we let people near it. What we think is untouchable, what we desperately want to protect, is actually what we should bravely allow our people to touch.