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Grievous Errors and Singed Skin


I grabbed a 375 degree pan last week. With my bare hands. Not my brightest move.


It happened so fast and I was distracted and hungry and I forgot to put on my handy-dandy Pioneer Woman oven mitts.


I didn’t feel anything at first, waiting a few measly milliseconds before my brain triggered my pain. Sharp and piercing, I sat the pan back down with a bang. Thoughts of self-criticism were already running through my head by the time I stepped over to the sink, dousing my hands in cool water.


My boyfriend was nice about it, thoughtful and concerned and kissing my wounds to make them feel better. But they still hurt, a lot.


I've learned that some boo-boos cannot be made better with a kiss.


Over the next few hours, I watched in fascination and agony as my skin turned a vibrant tomato-y color, throbbing and stinging nonstop. Then the blisters started to form, puffing my tender flesh in an effort to protect it while it healed.



I had second degree burns. But the funny thing was, I didn’t mind.



My body got used to the ever-present pain accompanied with burns, allowing me to function and converse in spite of their sting. Nor did the forming blisters phase me, tender to the touch.


God had designed my body to heal itself… and to persevere through the pain. I felt victorious that first day, grateful for God’s seamless design.



But then I found a flaw. Or, more accurately, I got impatient.



Most of you don’t know this, but I can’t stand loose skin. Peeling, sunburned skin; dry, flaky skin; even some scabs. Ever since I was little, I was obsessed with eradicating extra skin, and apparently, blisters are no different for me.


I lasted two days before I popped them with a needle. I lasted only two hours before I pierced the deflated blister with my nail, peeling it back to reveal red rawness. I regretted my actions instantly.


By interpreting my body’s natural healing methods, I risked infection and scarring. Now, almost a week out from my burning incident, my skin is looking better but feels tight, almost like I got stitches.


Could this be the forming of a scar? I’m not a doctor, but I wouldn’t be surprised.


All because I couldn’t wait. Because the mental annoyance and physical discomfort was too much. Because I was distracted and carefree in the first place.


Looking back, I can easily beat myself up over my mishaps here. But instead, I’m sharing this to teach you a lesson that I often forget:



Let God move at His pace.



Friends, don’t try to rush His design, whether with physical healing or mental, emotional, or spiritual.


He is not in a panic, scrambling to undo all of your wrongs. Instead, He knows that slow and steady and consistent wins the race.


He is calm and patient and steady, working and healing and renewing you… if you let Him.



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