The Lie That Healing Happens All At Once
A quick note before today's letter:
Today's Saturday Letter is arriving a little later than usual. My mom is in the hospital, and my attention has been where it needs to be. Thank you for your grace, your prayers, and for continuing to walk this journey with me.
As I sat beside her this week, I was reminded that healing rarely follows the timeline we expect. It comes one day, one prayer, one faithful step at a time. That truth became this week's letter.
✦ ✦ ✦
For the woman who thought she would be further along by now.
✦ ✦ ✦
The lesson came while I was washing dishes on a Saturday afternoon.
The sink was almost empty. The kitchen was quiet. I was thinking about nothing in particular.
And then I glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator.
The date was an anniversary date. Not a happy one.
I had not thought about it in weeks. I had truly believed I was past it.
And still, standing there with my hands in the water, I felt it. A quiet sting. The distance between the life I had pictured and the life that actually came.
I was furious with myself. I thought I was past this.
The Lord let me sit with it.
He did not rescue me from it.
He did not tell me I was failing.
He stayed there with me.
And then He let me understand something I had not understood before.
Healing is not a finish line.
Healing is a rhythm.
✦ ✦ ✦
Maybe you know the voice I am talking about.
It usually comes on the days you thought were behind you.
A song on the radio at a red light.
A photograph that catches you sideways.
A scent in someone's kitchen that reminds you of a life you used to have.
And the voice arrives, almost reasonable.
You should be further along by now.
It tells you the tears mean you failed to heal.
That if you were truly walking with God, you would not still feel this.
That a strong Christian woman would have been over it months ago.
It is the voice of every well-meaning person who suggested that maybe you have had enough time to grieve.
It is also a liar.
✦ ✦ ✦
Here is what is true.
Healing is not a moment. It is a rhythm.
The early days of grief feel like one long wave. Then they start to space out. Then the waves get smaller. Then they come less often. Then years pass and one comes that catches you off guard, and you sit down in it for an afternoon, and then you get up again.
That is the rhythm. That is what healing looks like.
The women who think they have to be done with grief never finish grieving, because they fight every wave that comes.
The women who let the rhythm happen, gently, slowly, year after year, are the women who actually heal.
Some days you walk easily.
Some days a song catches you sideways.
Some days you are grateful for what you have. Some days you grieve what you lost.
Some days you feel like the same woman you used to be. Some days you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.
That is not a failed healing. That is healing happening.
✦ ✦ ✦
What if the woman you are becoming is not built in one breakthrough?
What if she is built in a thousand small softenings, over years?
What if healing is not a sprint to finished, but a slow walk into wholeness?
✦ ✦ ✦
There is a verse I want to leave with you tonight.
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."
— Psalm 147:3
Read it slowly. He binds up their wounds.
A binding takes time to do well. A binding gets changed. A binding is checked. A binding is changed again.
That is the kind of healing God gives. Not a magic moment. A patient binding.
He is patient with you in it.
You are allowed to be patient with yourself.
✦ ✦ ✦
Healing does not happen all at once.
Healing is a rhythm, not a finish line.
You are exactly where the rhythm has you.
You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are walking.
✦ ✦ ✦
This week, name one piece of healing you can celebrate.
Not all the way healed. Not arrived. Not done.
One small softening.
A morning you slept slightly easier.
A song that no longer made you cry.
A conversation you could have without your voice shaking.
A photo you could look at without flinching.
Whatever it is, name it. Out loud if you can.
That is not nothing. That is healing.
Begin where you are.
✦ ✦ ✦
As I write these words, I am carrying them for myself, too. Life has a way of reminding us that even after one season of healing, another can begin. Whether you are grieving yesterday or carrying today's unexpected burden, the same faithful God walks beside us. One step at a time. One grace at a time.
Walking with you,
Your sister in the rebuild,
Kimberly
✦ ✦ ✦
P.S. After the Ashes launches in less than two weeks, on July 24. If you have not yet joined the launch list, you can do that right here on the homepage. I will send the Amazon link the morning of July 24, the moment it goes live.
