A Soldier: Scars & Stories

"Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort

them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are."

2 Corinthians 1:4

So, here is the current report. Some days I lay, cut-up guts and a bloody mess inside, and on the outside trying to hold it all together. A person going thru the motions, trying with all her might to deal with the shards that seemingly rip to pieces the inner being - all the while attempting to be productive and to carry on while having to be carried. Because it seems that is what’s expected of comrades ...and that’s what the General Commander has planned. 

Year two has started off a little less rocky than the first but some days the pain is as real as when we first begun. I say “we” because I’ve learned that my platoon buddies struggle too. Quite often simultaneously with an uncannily, unpredictable schedule. 

The uncertainty of what you’ll find when you arise each day is as surprising as what might come along in a box of chocolates, just not nearly as sweet and delightful. 

No, while one moment you want to talk about “it”, to be close to someone who cares and is understanding, and will listen; a sudden loud, unexpected blow might send one scurrying off to hide. Knowing they’re not, but being dazed by the noise and flash, comrades might seem like they’re the enemy instead. So, sometimes there doesn’t really even seem to be comfort in companionship. One moment there may be streams of tears where there had just been a weak but genuine smile. Monsoons. These new episodes of scrimmages may last a few moments, days or perhaps weeks before things turn around a bit. 

One might still be “healing” from the last burst of pain and waves of sadness, finally feeling like they’re getting accustomed to and learning to cope with the strategy set forth when all the sudden, out of nowhere, another blow sets them back and almost transports them again to the initial blast - blood and pieces from a shattered heart scatter everywhere, leaving everything unrecognizable. A soldier curls up in a nearby trench or hides out suffering in severe pain once more. Survival mode. 

This is the reality of the grief battle. The ebb and flow. The rendering and mending. The truth is, one never knows what will come along in a day. Will he make it through the terrifying jungle without stepping on a trigger wire today? Will she be faced with vicious enemy combatants which rip away all the newly healed flesh? Will there only be a slight knee-bump or will he perhaps make it through today without any incident whatsoever? Anything is possible on any given day during this battle. 

Patience and perseverance are the healing agents needed during this season. In a shared platoon medical bag, the instruments which promote healing are wrapped carefully with understanding and compassion, then encased with grace. 

Healing never comes overnight, in fact, it might take many, many sessions of gathering together, searching and rescuing, wrapping and reapplying soothing salve before the wound finally begins to heal. 

Time after time of carefully planned overseeing is necessary for recovery. Hard work. Persistence. Faithful attendance. It might take many stitchings, extensive surgery, and scar tissue may even become quite massive...true fact though, casualties of this magnitude aren’t left without both scars and stories.

There isn’t just a story for the wounded, bleeding soldier. Her story would be enough to keep it interesting, especially with the possibility and upon the success of total rehabilitation. Everyone loves survival stories! However, there are also the stories of those who have diligently nursed their wounds, they too have their own unique stories to share - and medals to wear. Yes, these comrades who have enlisted and been dedicated to listen, go beyond, stand beside, offer a shoulder to lean upon or hand a cloth to wipe away sorrowful tears also have stories of their own to relate and pictures from far away places to share. 

The process isn’t a glorious one. The battle stories aren’t always enveloped with sweet smelling scents like letters from home, in fact, some stories are quite ugly with tellings of some soldiers who’ve been dismembered and some even ending with worse tragedy. Yet, for those who dedicate their lives to being wounded healers, for those wounded soldiers who brave the painful seasons and comeback, for those who learn to walk and trust again, the stories they share are priceless. Stories with the makings of epic proportions. The grandest stories people pick up to read and become inspired. Best sellers because of and in spite of!

This is what life is made up of: being in the heat of the battle, taking the blows, surviving the dark, bullet-flying seasons when it seems hopeless to continue on. It’s choosing the option to bravely promote healing, no matter the costs which might incur along the way. It’s the choice to heal even if one’s life and well-being are severely altered. Healing...then helping others do the same. Compassion is born out of grief.

No time limits are in place on these battle grounds. No unrealistic expectations. Nobody left behind. We’re all in this battle together to be honest. Only one slogan rings loudly for all to hear as the Commander General strategically leads to victory in this raging battle:

Fight. 

Choose healing. 

Heal others. 

Repeat. 

That, my friend, is our combined stories, how we’ve made it this far and through the worst battles in our lives.  One day, all scars, wounds, pain and tears will be no more. We will all be healed and whole...until then. 

Semper Fi~