Surviving Fallout from Old Wounds

I have a box neatly tucked away. Not in a closet but in my mind.

I'm not proud of this box; actually I wish no one even knew it existed. There really isn't a good description of its contents. Let me simply say it's packed with lots of unsightly and harmful things. The packing job is not neat since it was done years ago when I was a small child. Whenever the contents escape, pain is right around the corner. The only good thing is it helped me survive my childhood.

Many years ago--with qualified help--I rummaged through the box and evaluated its contents. I discarded some items, but repacked others and closed the lid. I wish I could throw it completely away but that's impossible. It's as much a part of me as my brown eyes.  Honestly, the fact I still have fallout from old wounds, deeply grieves my soul.

So why am I telling you of its existence?

Recently something happened—not sure exactly what—but it stirred up the contents of the box. And without me even realizing it, the box top slid open, and that old icky stuff began tumbling out.

Needless to say, I'm super disappointed. After all, even though it was still tucked away, I thought it had been dealt with and would not affect my life anymore. I've learned that's not the case. Without a clue it happened, I had defaulted back to the box's contents. All I sensed was an imbalance, not a retro-escape-to-box-behavior.

My mind is exhausted and my heart is hurt. Who knew there could be bleeding without the presence of blood? Or hot tears springing from a cold wound? Or how the past can feel more real than the present? I wish I could simply close my eyes and deny reality. But I learned a long time ago, that doesn't work.

Now that I know the box is back, I will have to be kind to myself, make the right decisions, and survive the fallout until it can be safely stored again.

I share this for two reasons.

• Solomon teaches in Ecclesiastes 1:9, "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again: there is nothing new under the sun." My bet is there are other folks with a box. I'm not the first, nor will I be the last. I'm not alone. So if my sharing helps even one person, then it's worth the agony of being a box owner.

• Once again, life teaches a valuable lesson. Finite minds, fragile human hearts, and millions of minutes don't heal all wounds or keep a box hidden. But what matters is how a person moves forward into the future while toting a heavy past. And it may not be pretty or easy, but I know God is there every step of the way, just like He was when the box got packed in the first place. He's the one who took my box's contents and turned them into a survivor tool kit.    

For now I'm claiming Romans 12:12, "Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." 

May these words bring you hope whether your days are bright or dark and whether you have a box or not.

What are your thoughts? Have you been through something similar? As always, I'm grateful for your feedback. 

Tammy Van Gils plants words and grows insightful stories blooming with hope. She is a thriving survivor of abuse, abandonment and adversity. How? By the Master Gardener's grace, the Vine's love, and the Advocate's renewal—emotionally and spiritually. She is sowing life with her husband of 35 years, a Yorkie Poo named Moose, and a dozen chickens. She is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers. She's honored to be a guest blogger and also a contributor to The Wonders of Nature Devotion Book, Let the Earth Rejoice Devotions, So God Made a Dog, Worthy Inspired and Short and Sweet Too, Grace Publishing.