By Steven Norris
When was the last time someone hurt you? Maybe it was a word spoken in anger, a look of disappointment, or a blatant act of disrespect. We all know the sting of being wounded, whether intentionally or unintentionally.
What do we do with our pain? Do we lash out, returning insult for insult? Do we stuff it down inside, allowing bitterness to take root and resentment to grow?
Recently, I came across a line in a poem that has stuck with me. The online author goes by the moniker “k.e.” and wrote: “…rest when you are tired. tend to what is broken. / but do not build a home inside your wounds….”
Umph! That last line landed like a sack of bricks in my soul.
I can imagine eight-year-old Steven building a fort in the living room out of couch cushions, pillows, and comforters swiped from beds throughout the house. I can also imagine that same little guy inside me building a home inside my woundedness, hunkering down in isolation from the world. There, wounded me can nurse the illusion of safety while rehearsing the ways I have been wronged.
How does one find freedom from such a prison?
In John 5, Jesus encounters a man near a pool in Jerusalem. The man has suffered from a debilitating condition for thirty-eight years. Seeing him lying there, Jesus asks a peculiar question: “Do you want to get well?”
What kind of question is that? Of course he wants to get well! Why would Jesus ask such a thing?
Perhaps Jesus is inviting the man to imagine a future beyond the limitations of his present circumstances. After thirty-eight years, what would life look like without the condition that had shaped so much of his existence? Could he imagine a different way of living?
Sometimes, our wounds become so familiar that we struggle to imagine life without them. We normalize the sting of betrayal by rehearsing old grievances until they become part of our identity. What was once done to us becomes so much a part of us that freedom and wholeness feel like foreign territory.
Jesus’ question invites us to consider whether we are willing to begin the journey toward healing.
Of course, healing is rarely as simple as making a decision. Some wounds require time, professional help, supportive relationships, and extraordinary grace. Forgiveness does not mean pretending the hurt never happened or allowing someone to hurt us again. Healing begins when we acknowledge our pain without allowing it to constrain our future.
Today, if you have built a home inside your wounds, perhaps you can hear Jesus’ question speaking to your soul: Do you want to get well?
We do not always get to choose the circumstances that bring grief, betrayal, or despair into our lives. We can, however, begin to imagine a future in which those experiences no longer define who we are.
Our wounds may be places we have visited, but they do not have to be places we call home.