“Finally!”
I plunk my chair down onto the sand and fall into it, trying to catch my breath. The short walk to the beach felt much longer than it actually was.
I settle down to watch the morning sky as it hosts a battle between the bright yellow sun and the heavy gray clouds; a skirmish that the clouds seem to win as the sun disappears. I lean back in my chair, now able to gaze directly into the sky and thank God for the chance to rest in one of my favorite places.
A harsh cawing right next to my ear disturbs my heart-to-heart with God. I glance to my left and discover that a group of gray and white seagulls has settled beside me. A bit irritated at the presence of these noisy creatures, I move to chase them away.
Something catches my eye, stopping my movement. I see a seagull with a deformed leg. While the rest of the birds hop busily along on two strong legs, he moves with a crippled, one-legged hop. He keeps an eye on me as I sit and observe his malady.
A sudden surge of compassion sweeps away my former irritation. Tears flow down my cheeks as my heart constricts and I long to make him complete and whole like the others. What has happened in his little bird life to give him this handicap? Was he born this way, or was he caught in a nasty altercation with a fishing boat? Worse yet, was he wounded in a fight with a bigger, bully bird?
I continue to watch my new little friend as he limp-hops about on the sand. He eyes me back. I suppose he has never had the experience of a grown woman crying over him before.
My tears surprise me too.
Why am I crying? It is certainly not my habit to weep over birds on the beach. Whatever is the matter with me?
And then I hear voices from my past.
“You are my friend, but certainly not my best friend.”
“You look funny.”
“You can be glad you have your baby. He is the only reason your husband hasn’t already left you.”
These words, and more, coming from the mouths of so-called friends, cut deep into my soul. The lies from long ago start to resurface; lies that Satan once used to destroy me. They tell me that I am not worthy of friendship. I will never be beautiful. I will never be enough. I am odd, different, ugly.
Through the years, God has been teaching me to see me as he sees me, and I am learning. I have experienced healing in my soul as I embraced the truth that God has made me just as he wants me to be. My life is valuable to him.
Today, as I sit and shed tears for a broken bird, I know why I am crying. My tears are for myself, and I wonder, “Am I as healed as I think I am? If I am healing, why has this broken, little seagull affected me so?”
As I ponder these thoughts, the most beautiful thing happens. The flock decides it is time to move on, and, lifting their wings, they rise to the sky. My new little friend lifts his wings, too, and flies off with the others. I lose sight of him because, from the sky, no one can see his abnormality. He blends in with the rest. He has learned to live with his imperfection, and not one bird rejects him.
My tears cease.
I look up into the cloudy sky, which has parted to let the sunshine warm my face. I feel as though God himself is smiling at me. I smile back. His presence envelopes me, and again I see myself in that bird.
I may still be a bit crippled, but I no longer live daily under the shame and judgment of those comments from long ago. The words that were whispered into my soul by the enemy a few minutes earlier have dissipated.
I am learning to overcome my impediment and fly with others. God has healed that little fellow; he is also healing me.
We all have wounds. No one in this life can escape them; they come as a result of the curse of sin.
Jesus experienced wounds too. Isaiah 53:5 says, “He was wounded for us, for our sin. And now, by those same wounds, we are healed.“
Because of his own wounds, Jesus has the power to heal everyone who comes asking for his healing. As he speaks truth into our souls, we find it is the salve that provides the healing we desperately long to receive. If we keep administering the salve of truth, we find that scars begin to replace the wounds.
Scars can still bring a bit of pain now and then, but they are so much better than open wounds. Our scars remind us of a past injury; and the present work of Jesus in our lives, leading us to healing and a regained wholeness.
I lean back in my chair and breathe a deep, peaceful sigh.
My heart still feels empathy for that little bird, but I am no longer sorrowful.
My feathered friend has found healing from my Heavenly Father for his broken leg; I have found healing for my broken heart.
And my scars that were so sensitive when I first spotted my one-legged friend?
They are soothed and back to just being a beautiful reminder of the power of Jesus in my life.
I pray that you will allow Jesus to do the same for you.