Festering Sores

So, I've never actually had a really bad wound before.  The worst I can think of was when I cut my finger when I went on my week-long mission trip to Cuba this past summer with the organization I worked for (you should go check out Deep Impact, it's pretty fantastic and our facebook page because there are lots of fun pictures).  I had haphazardly packed my bags and had left my razor straight up near the zipper.  I went to shove one last-minute item in and in the process of unzipping my bag sliced a pretty deep cut into my finger.  

This was especially problematic as the conditions of the water in Cuba are not up to our American water-purification standards.  Our poor little American bodies couldn't handle all the extra goodies they kept in the water there.  So, I grabbed one of the many water bottles that I had and frantically tried to stop the bleeding (which for a finger wound goes on FOR-EV-ER).  What made the day even more fantastic was that we were headed to the beach for the day.  That's right folks, new, fresh, open wound and delicious salt water to purify and cause my whole finger to go numb from continued pain.  It was a lovely occasion.  

I've never had a wound fester, however.  Festering sores seem gross.  They seem disgusting and troublesome and annoying.  It took forever for my finger cut to heal.  I can't imagine watching as the wound got worse and worse and instead of healing over and going back to normal, getting yellowed and full of puss.  

But I can understand what that feels like.  You see, I often let my anger become a festering sore.  
I imagine it like a rash, something that often starts out small but spreads out quickly.  And, if I'm honest, usually I get the most worked up on behalf of others.  When someone does something against my close friends or family, I can easily get very frustrated on their behalf.  I want to protect the people I love and when that is threatened, I loose control sometimes.  When someone makes my friend feel unworthy.  When someone makes my sister feel worthless.  When a teacher take their attitudes out on someone merely sharing their beliefs.  I get angry.  

But often I don't let it show.  I grit my teeth and clench my fists and grow very quiet because I don't want anyone to know.  I nod and may even give a small smile.  Sometimes I sigh and huff so people know I'm frustrated, but generally I withdraw, if only slightly.  That is, until I reach my room.

Then my anger explodes out to my roommate or my pillow or my mother via skype.  Everything that has frustrated me about that person or situation comes cascading out of my mouth in a furious wave of anger.  I feel myself drowning in it but I can't stop.  I have unleashed the flow and the river won't stop until it's run dry.  And often, after a brief pause, something will set me off and a huge gush will come out once more, until there is nothing left to say.

I ignore the rash, but it grows.  Finally I cannot take it anymore and I scratch vigorously, opening the wound.  I notice the sores beginning to appear and I try to avoid them, but I can't help myself.  I continue to scratch and scratch until the sores become infected, bleeding, ugly masses.  That is like my anger.  

I realize in the midst of it that only turning to the great physician can cure the sores.  But often times I'd rather leave them there, open and oozing blood and gunk, a reminder of how I had been hurt and frustrated.  That way, when it happens again, I have the sores to point to so I can remind them how they've hurt me before.  It's not healthy, but I don't care.  I want people to see and notice I am hurt without going up to them.  I want them to fix the issue, not work to seek treatment myself.  And so I sit there, covered in sores, more and more discontent by the minute.  

I wish I could say this is a grand issue I have found a solution for, but I can't.  It's something I'm still working on.  The Great Physician has a lot on his hands when it comes to Patient Eskridge.  Sometimes I wonder how he puts up with me.  

For now, I suppose, I will try and leave my hands at my side, letting my sores heal.  Because no matter how much comfort I seek in the pain and the frustration, it is nothing compared to the comfort God can give.