I pick my cuticles. My friends get really mad at me when I do it. It's kind of like a nervous habit, only I don't just do it when I'm nervous, I do it all the time. It kicks in to a more severe degree when stressed, but for the most part it is an ongoing habit.
Every once and a while I pray to stop. I close my eyes, fold my hands, and ask God that when I open my eyes my fingers will miraculously be healed.
And then I open my eyes and my fingers are still bitten away, gross and wounded.
And then I get frustrated, because I know God can heal my fingers. I know he can in an instant remove this nervous habit and heal my little frayed fingers.
But he doesn't. Because there is something about healing that we as humans need. We need to see the process to learn, or something. I need to see what my fingers look like bleeding, dried, and ugly in order to appreciate them when they are smooth, manicured (by myself, because I'm poor), and healed.
My fingers are me.
I'm seeing the gross, bitten, wounded side of myself right now.
And while I want this to all go away NOW and I do not want to deal with the seemingly endless pain I'm currently in, I know there is healing in the process of healing. I know that if I want to be this woman of God that both I and God desire, there has to be hurt. We HAVE to dig down deep to the root of these weeds and pull them out.
I have to pull these things out.
Because I want to hear the Lord say to me, "You are healed. Go in peace."
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