February 6, 2012 by Beth Hess
I spent the better part of a week walking around with a piece of glass in my foot. A tiny one, mind you, but glass nonetheless. I wasn’t even totally sure it was there. I felt the initial wound, cleaned it, and slapped on a Transformers band-aid, and then assumed the pain was just from a cut. By yesterday, however, the sliver had worked its way to the surface. A little self-surgery, and it was out.
The sliver came to the surface and I removed it. Common sense prevailed. I never considered just leaving it there. Or even more absurd… shoving it back in.
It strikes me, though, how often I treat my sin differently. The secrets and shame I prefer to keep in the shadows. They, too, have a way of working themselves to the surface. But those I tend to push back in. Wear thicker socks. Choose my shoes carefully. Postpone a workout because of the pain. Plucking it out would make more sense.
My body instinctively knew that glass did not belong. It warned me with pain and then pushed it right out of my body, refusing it, bringing it to the surface so I would have to deal with it. My soul does the same … bringing light to my shadows, the fragments for which my heart and mind have no use. The foreign objects that must be removed.
Lord, teach me to pluck them cleanly from the surface, resisting the urge to hide them away. Lest I continue to walk with a limp instead of running my race.