Battle Worn But Fighting

So, here I am. All 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; the current blow might make one run off and hide away like they’re the enemy, finding no comfort in companionship. One moment there may be streams of tears where there had just been a weak, but genuine smile. These episodes of scrimmages may last a few moments, days or perhaps weeks before things turn around a bit. 

One might be “healing” from the last burst of pain and waves of sadness, finally feeling like they’re getting accustomed to and learning to cope, when all the sudden, out of nowhere, another blow from out of nowhere sets them back and almost transports them again to the initial blast - blood and pieces from a shattered heart scatter everywhere, leaving everything unrecognizable and a soldier in severe pain once more. 

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 healing, new flesh? Will there only be a slight knee-bump or perhaps he will make it through today without any incident whatsoever? Anything is possible with this process. 

Patience, perseverance and grace are the agents needed during this season. In the medical bag of true, unwavering love, the instruments which will promote healing are wrapped carefully with understanding and compassion, then encased with grace. 

Healing doesn’t come overnight, in fact, it might take many, many sessions of gathering together, wrapping and reapplying soothing salve before the wound finally begins to heal. Time after time of carefully planned overseeing. Faithful attendance. It might take many stitchings, extensive surgery, scar tissue may even be quite massive...casualties of this magnitude aren’t left without both scars and stories. 

There isn’t just a story for the wounded, left-to-die or heal soldiers. Her story would be enough to keep it interesting, especially upon the event of total rehabilitation. However, for those who’ve diligently nursed the wounds, they have their own story to share and medals to wear. Those who have listened, stood faithfully beside, offered a shoulder to lean on or handed a cloth to wipe away sorrowful tears also have victorious stories of their own to relate and pictures from far away places to share. 

The process isn’t a glorious one, battle stories aren’t always enveloped with sweet smelling scents, in fact, some stories are quite ugly, leaving some humans dismembered and some even end with tragic death. Yet, for those who dedicate their lives to being wounded healers, for those wounded soldiers who brave the painful seasons of comeback and learn to walk and trust again, their stories are priceless. Stories with the makings of epic proportions. The grand stories people pick up to read and be inspired. 

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. 

No time limits on war. No unrealistic expectations. Nobody left behind. We’re all in this battle together to be honest. Only one slogan to hear as the Commander General strategically leads to victory: Fight. Choose healing. Heal others. Repeat.