The notion that time heals has existed for decades. Time does not heal. Just ask anyone who has buried a child, spouse, or best friend.
The people who tell us time heals have good intentions. Their desire is to ease our burden. They are reaching for words to comfort and encourage, but they have no clue. Time doesn’t heal.
Paraphrasing a post by Chonda Pierce a few months after the death of her husband, Rather time is a measuring stick that calculates the number of months, days, and hours since I was held by the man who loved me unconditionally and kissed me passionately.
Time measures the number of days my son’s chair sits vacant and lonely at our dinner table. It measures the years I’ve not been able to bake my boy a birthday cake and the decades I will never know the daughter-in-law or grandchildren I long to love. And time measures the minutes I have gone without hearing my son’s voice or not been able to wrap my arms around him. But time does not heal.
We used to think we had all the time in the world. We now know better. We know life is messy, people are imperfect, health fails, and people die. We know life is brief even though some days seem to drag on forever.
Time can be brutal. It adds wrinkles, gray hair, cellulite, and muscle aches. It causes things to rust, decay, or break down. But time does not heal.
We race against time to finish the job, meet the deadline, or find the cure. Time flies when you’re having fun, as children grow, and as we grow old. And time stops when we bury a precious child or a devoted spouse. But time does not heal.
Time. Does. Not. Heal.
God heals in His time.
It’s true—without hesitation or reservation, we are deeply loved and accepted by Jesus Christ.
Let’s drop into His arms and pour our grief, bitterness, anger, and doubt onto His feet.
Surrender it all to Him.
He did not do this to us. He is here with us.
He holds us. He weeps with us. And He loves us—time after time.