Scars

I got an email from a parent the other day. She started out thanking me for all the things her student has learned about writing in my class, and then she expressed concern about the way I had dealt with her child in a particular lesson that week.

It was gentle feedback, and I thanked her for the feedback and for its gentleness. Not all parents are so gentle, let me tell you. And many parents simply grumble at home and don’t give feedback at all (I try to remind them that we can’t fix a problem that we don’t know exists). As it turned out, she (and her child) misunderstood the situation, so I was glad she sent the email and we were able to clarify things.

But my first reading of it was painful. Even the gentle criticism can still occasionally trigger old perfectionist tendencies and inadequacy lies I’ve believed.

But thank Jesus I’m not where I used to be. God has grown me and healed a lot of damage. I’ve learned better how to deal with criticism, whether it’s gentle or ugly.

    -- I wait until I've slept before I respond, if possible (or at least until I feel less emotional).

    -- I work to see myself and the situation from the other person’s perspective as best I can.

    -- I try to remember that I have no idea what other stresses and old wounds are coloring their reactions and words to me.

    -- I try very hard to assume the best of someone rather than the worst.

    -- And of course, I try very, very hard to recognize and acknowledge my mistakes when I make them.

Not that I always succeed in these efforts, but I have definitely improved. There was a time in my life when I could NEVER have held the administrative position I do now and handled the complaints and stress. I’d have been a weepy mess all the time.

Nevertheless . . . my first reading of that email? Yeah, it was painful. Tightness in my chest, shortness of breath, and tears in my eyes. Ugghh . . . I screwed up again . . . how did I manage to screw up again . . .

Now, I have some parents who might read this post and then be afraid to talk to me about such things. Please don’t go there! As I said, I need to have a chance to correct my mistakes and can’t do so if I’m unaware. I also, frankly, need continued practice at hearing a critique and not falling apart.

There is a reason I share this: I think we all need to remember that we can experience true, genuine healing in our lives, but that doesn’t mean we never feel those hurts again or make the old mistakes again. There may still be scars. There may still be triggers. We may still find ourselves crashing and burning on occasion.

For me, one of the most heart-wrenching moments in The Chosen is when Simon and Matthew find the runaway Mary Magdalene back in her old sinful haunts. They urge her to return to the group, but Mary tearfully declines. “He already fixed me once. I broke again. I can’t face him.”

There is a lot of theological controversy around that storyline, and I’m not going to address that because I’m not a theologian and I don’t have the answers. I’m just going to say that there’s never, ever a reason to not turn to Jesus for fixing -- and RE-fixing. The repair of a broken life looks different for different people. Some alcoholics get saved and never want a drink again (hallelujah!). Some want a drink every day until they die, but never have one (praise God!). And some who want desperately to quit find themselves drinking again . . . and find Jesus full of grace and love and multiple second chances (thank you, Lord!). If he expects us to forgive someone “seventy times seven”, why do we expect any less from him? There is always forgiveness . . . there is continued healing. Honestly, sometimes just the desire to be fixed and changed is evidence of the work of God in our lives. Right?

So, yep – I continue to read the emails and feel the tight chest and the teary eyes . . . and I let myself feel it all, knowing it’s just echoes of past noise in my heart which will continue to fade, even if they flare up again on occasion. They’re reminders of how good my God is. If the scars would disappear entirely, I might forget the depth of the wounds that he healed.