On SuperBowl Sunday last year, I shared my experience from the prior year. Two years ago, SuperBowl Sunday was less than 48 hours after my ex announced he wanted a divorce. This year, SuperBowl Sunday falls on the anniversary of that horrible date when I felt my world exploding into a million pieces.
I don’t remember the date to wallow. I remember because (1) it was a traumatic date in my life, and I can’t sweep it under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist, and (2) it is a benchmark of where I have been compared to where I am. Today marks an opportunity for me to reflect and choose gratitude.
On my datebook, I have the phrase “deja poo” written on this date. The phrase makes me smile even if the reason for the phrase reeks. A lot of poo loses it’s stench after a while, but there are some things in life that reek no matter how much time has passed. I can appreciate what God has grown out of the rich fertilizer, but it doesn’t make it all okay. It doesn’t make it any easier to see people I love still dealing with the deep effects of turmoil and betrayal. It doesn’t make the layers of deception meld into a remolded truth. It doesn’t make the compassion and longing for healing fade; in fact, it is more focused and amplified as time passes.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Without attention and care, time can make wounds worse. But with attention and care, we can learn to live with the long-lasting effects of the wounds.
God has given my healing process context. I don’t like it, and it’s not comfortable most of the time, but it is still purposeful. I don’t like the deja poo, but I love the God who is consistent and trustworthy as each year passes.