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  • Writer's pictureMarnie Hammar

Our Wounds, Our Offering

Published by Rachael Adams in The Love Offering Series.

It was on an out-and-about kind of day, filled with errands and meetings and school pickups, that the splinter wedged itself into my index finger. I couldn’t stop to dig it out, so I spent the day rebuking it. You, Mr. Evil Splinter, are not supposed to be here.

This splinter isn’t unlike the deeper soul wounds I carry. This year has been an unwelcome parade of both physical and emotional wounds. Like the splinter, hurts are trying to insert themselves in places they don’t belong, casting shadows in my heart and mind, and threatening to seep into my words and drip from my actions. Hurt does unexpected things, doesn’t it? It confuses, numbs, paralyzes, angers. It crowds my capacity to love anyone well, including myself. I can’t love well from broken places.

How does this work, to be broken, but still called to love well?

I think on that annoying splinter. Loving well asks more of me than simply acknowledging the splinter. I can’t heal by just knowing the wound is there. And these deeper wounds — these places where I don’t feel seen or heard, these places where I’ve been accused and rejected — require more than I am able to do. I can’t dig them out alone.

What if, when I feel least able to love well, my wounds can become a love offering?


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