Time doesn’t heal all wounds. But sometimes it truly is the only cure.
I’ve felt wounded by motherhood lately. Not the deep, searing wounds of years past; loss and grief, depression and anxiety.
But the surface wounds that result from typical daily hardships; ongoing sickness and sleepless nights, weariness and lack of productivity. I feel the sting from not being able to keep up.
The daily expectations of motherhood have broken me and the wounds are oozing with feelings of guilt and worthlessness – crying out to me that what I’m doing isn’t enough and that I’ll never be able to live up to the standards of the world around me.
When the typical, though significant blows of motherhood keep coming, the daily wounds have been unable to heal.
Each day it becomes harder to get out of bed. Each day it becomes harder to move. Each day it becomes harder to carry on. Each day it becomes harder to see purpose.
Each day the wounds grow a little wider, cut a little deeper.
Without rest, healing hasn’t been possible and the wounds remain open – and what spills out is often frustration and impatience, both towards myself and my kids.
There is no immediate cure for seasonal sickness or nighttime restlessness.
There is nothing that can cure the common cold or convince my children to sleep through the night. The rest that is needed to bind these wounds of fatigue and exhaustion is just not available right now. And it leaves me feeling defeated.
However, I know that there is actually one cure for these afflictions, albeit an indirect one. And that cure is simply time.
In time, healing will come. But now, I rise to the challenge of caring for others when I myself need to be cared for.
In time, the children will sleep. But now, I rise to the challenge of answering the middle-of-the-night calls that come from the crib.
In time, productivity will return. But now, I rise to the challenge of letting things go.
In time, strength will increase. But now, I rise to the challenge of surrendering to a God that is strong enough to carry me.
In time, my purpose will become clear. But now, I rise to the challenge of believing that God has one for me.
In time, the children will be grown. The nights will be silent. The germs will no longer linger on every surface of the house. In time, I will rest.
But for now, I lick my wounds and keep going despite my seemingly perpetual limp.
Because I know that time will eventually produce the cure these wounds ache for. And that in time, these bitter wounds will be mended by the healing balm of sweet memories.