A long weekend of getting done what needed doing left me worn out, but not enough to keep me from hitting the weights long before the sun even thought about rising. It started well, all the body parts were moving in the right direction, or pretending to, until my shoulders reminded me, I’m not 18 anymore. Those a little closer to that age seemed to breeze through the exercises, but old wounds broke through the cracks in my armor.
Football in my teens, taekwondo in my forties, or six decades of wear and tear have left their mark. The only way to get through was to push through, but at some point, there was no more push.
Old wounds.
In my exhaustion, my mind wandered past the need to breathe… to older wounds, forgiven but not forgotten, peering through the cracks of my memories. Things I’d left far behind, or so I thought. This is usually when my heart tailspins into dark places I struggle to stay out of.
But just as I kept heaving chunks of iron overhead, my mind pressed memories back as well. Each rep was like past failures piling up, daring to reappear and take hold.
I took a deep breath, arms outstretched, praying the Lord would be my strength. Shoulders still hurt. My heart still hurt. But We made it through.
Ice and ibuprofen may ease the muscles, but there is no pill for the heart. Then the Lord whispered:
The failures, the pain, the burdens.
You surrendered them to Me long ago.
There’s no need for you to take them back.
My shoulders never tire.
You could never give Me more than I could carry.
I love you way too much.
A deep breath and all that remained was memories, and the aches of the morning.
New wounds will heal.
Old wounds will heal in time.
Lord, I’m grateful that You carry me through them all.
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