This week I was thinking about contentment and why we feel we want and need so much stuff. Sometimes I think it’s just because we’re blessed. And we are. Blessed to live where we do and when we do. But I also can’t help but notice a lot of stuff that looks like it’s there to make up for a lot of missing pieces in us. And that got me thinking about wounds and how we sometimes ignore them and compensate for them, and how much that costs us along the way.
So I’ll put it this way, why is a hospital room not like a room at a luxury hotel?
It certainly has many similar features. A hospital room is expensive. It has a fancy adjustable bed, your own TV, room service, a call button with your own wait staff if you need anything.
Yet somehow these things don’t count the same way in hospital as they would at a hotel. Why?
Because when we’re in hospital something is wrong, and all these comforts have but one purpose—to serve the wounded you, not the healthy and whole you.
And have you noticed that servicing a wound demands a great deal of time and attention? Wounds are very selfish in that way. Even something as simple as stubbing your toe will literally hijack everything else you are doing for a time as your whole body, mind, and emotions, bend themselves to come to its aid. Wounds bend and distort and derail us. Derail our thoughts, our desires, and a wound untreated can even begin to bend what we think of as needs, even our hopes and dreams.
So how can we tell if we’re wounded? One way is to notice that wounds tend to pick up a lot of accessories along the way. It’s another way the hospital room is not a luxury—it’s filled with stuff like IV’s and monitors and crutches and wheelchairs and the like. Needful things if you’re wounded, but too much stuff if you’re not. Not too many people say, “I don’t need these crutches anymore but I think I’ll keep them here in my room anyway.” A lot of stuff accompanies a physical wounds and I don’t think it’s a reach to say perhaps even more “stuff” accompanies an emotional wound.
Which makes me think about all of my “stuff” and just how much of it is in my life, not to serve the real me, but to accommodate the wounded me. And I’ve also come to realize it’s best not to try to design a dream home for someone who doesn’t know themself beyond their wounds. Because when wants and desires and dreams are actually there to service a wound, not their true self, then all after that time and money all we will have built will be a very expensive hospital room.
Sadly, I think some people never get to know life with their real self. They only know a life that services unhealed wounds. I don’t want that for you or for me.
So let’s not underestimate the power of a wound to hijack an otherwise amazing life.
Let’s not underestimate the cost of compensating for or ignoring an unhealed wound or unacknowledged pain.
Let’s instead be brave and face our wounds, and seek to heal them so that the dreams we are chasing are not a shadow of a shadow of who we really are and what we really need.
I think you’ll find that most of the time your real dreams—your unwounded dreams—are far less costly and cumbersome than what wounds demand. You might even find yourself unburdened
from a lot of your stuff. Sometimes all it takes is a little healing to discover you don’t need so many crutches anymore and are ready and able to get back to building yourself a beautiful life