Spiritual Wounds

"Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly . . ."

Just looking at this old World War I picture, while contemplating the spiritual battlefield we are in (Ephesians 6:12) stirs memories of the times when my heart has been so wounded I literally could NOT pick myself up, but when I could go no further on my own, angel friends and family have been there to carry me to a place of comfort, help and healing.

My dear friend Darla Isackson has written another wonderful article in Meridian Magazine, titled "Clay Feet and Childhood Wounds"

In that article she said, "Wounds we received five minutes ago, as well in the distant past can cause us problems. Our society is full of prickly possibilities for spiritual wounding. Pres. Henry B. Eyring said in a recent address, 'Our comrades are being wounded in the spiritual conflict around us . . . Spiritual wounds are not easily visible, except with inspired eyes.' ("Man Down!” April 4, 2009, General Conference). I remember an additional message urging us to treat others with gentleness and kindness. The main idea was that if we treat everyone as if they are wounded, most of the time we’d be right. How true!

So many people “put on a happy face,” and never let the pain show. Others may put on a grouchy face, partly to keep people at a distance to make sure their woundedness is not found out. We know so little of what goes on in the minds and hearts of those around us—and things are so seldom as they seem. The most successful, seemingly altogether people may be hiding serious emotional wounds. The women of the “Five Browns” comes to mind. How many have envied them? Who would have guessed? No wonder the Lord has told us not to judge. He is the only One who knows each person’s heart. In 1 Samuel 16:7 we read, 'The Lord seeth not as a man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.'"

Voices From Empty Houses

I wrote this poem twenty years ago and I felt like sharing it this morning, with all the young, lonely, stay at home Moms out there! And, you might say with a little touch of nostalgia for a coming day. Can you have nostalgia for a future event?

Voices From Empty Houses

I somehow feel like a stranger here.

A visitor from another planet—

Or a time traveler . . .

I remember mother's soft cotton house dresses

And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.

The "Leave It To Beaver" days . . .

Of housewives sharing coffee

And the streets filled with childsong!

Now a lonely dog barks in echo,

As a stiff breeze clangs the chain,

Of an empty playground swing.

Distant traffic the only reminder

That people rushing away from the suburbs

will return,

To pick up empty garbage cans,

And unlock silent doors.

As I walk . . .

Flags, raised like sentinels on mailboxes demand,

"Who goes there?"

And voices from the empty houses,

Wearing linen suits with tinkling heels asking,

"And, what do you do?"

Incongruous isn't it?

A housewife in jeans,

And tennis shoes . . .

The voices

From the empty houses proclaiming—

Times have changed.

Echoing other voices from empty houses

Like Bolsheviks and Marxists,

Who changed times, for a season.

I see the faces of little girls in day care centers,

Behind their Berlin Walls—

Crooning to their dolls . . .

Of soft cotton dresses,

And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.

Housewives sharing coffee,

And streets filled with childsong!

© Bonnie Holt (1990)