Quotes About Healing

some people take all the pain they've been knowing their whole life and pack it down inside them where it festers, oozing pus. Gangrene of the soul. That sore then becomes them. It's what bubbles up. You can smell it.

But time does heal. Not like we think it does, not like we would—from the front—but more from the back or side or someplace we can't see it coming. It bubbles up beneath and rises all around.

Dummy #3, the man with the cut Achilles

In my experience, it's those words on the tip of the tongue that we most need to hear. They are the key. The thing that's missing. But you can't pull them out. They have to be offered. Freely. And they won't be offered until the owner trusts you with them. And to do that means they've got to break through a world of hurt and pain just to get them out of their mouth. I caught my reflection in the mirror.

When people become afraid on a soul level, when the terror of their lives has taken up residence in their belly, it becomes the wall behind which they sequester themselves. The only way through is to tunnel under. Meet them inside their perimeter. Problem is, the depth of their pain determines the thickness of the wall.

I used to think the same thing. Thought that by keeping it to myself, I was protecting you. Truth is—" He shook his head and spat again. "The truth is the only thing that doesn't hurt.

Mutt, a mentally ill brother who is setting fire to a load of expensive things from the house he grew up in and was physically abused and neglected in) "Tuck (mutt's brother is being asked), aren't you going to stop him?" 'Why?' 'Well' - she waved her hand across the house - 'couldn't you two do something good with all this?"...... "Yeah, but the money we earned wouldn't buy as much therapy as that fire....

I quit screaming at God a long time ago, 'cause I reckon he knows a thing or two about hurt.

I guess sometimes it's got to hurt before it can get better." I nodded. "Hearts are like that.

I've been asking the Lord to forgive me for the things in my past that brought this upon all of you. I have asked before, and I will ask again, please forgive me.

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.

There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.

The amazing thing about transplantation, aside from the fact that it worked, was that it allowed people to feel again. The thing I liked best about my previous life was the first smile when a patient woke up. Because with that smile, I knew that I hadn't simply given that persona new pump, I had given him or her a new pump that allowed that person to live, to express emotion. It was the smile, even more than the first beat of the heart, that told me it had worked.

Sometimes, given their depth, we become little more than the sum of our wounds, and it takes someone else to see what we can be instead of what we are.

Their love did what her hatred could not. And never will.

Story is the bandage of the broken. The tapestry upon which we write our lives." "Stories Birth our dreams and feed the one thing that never dies.

Sometimes we have to sing through the scars. Sometimes a song is the only thing that heals the broken places in us. Only thing that breaks the chains on the heart.

forgiveness offered—especially when so undeserved—cuts chains off the human heart that no other power in any universe anywhere can rattle much less break.

Writes over the old memories. Makes beauty out of pain. Love writes what can be.

A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.

they walk the hurting from broken to not. From unable to breathe to laughing. From sickness of the soul to tears dripping off the corners of a smile. From lost to known and accepted in the knowing. This is the matchless and

Story is the bandage of the broken. Sutures of the shattered. The tapestry upon which we write our lives. Upon which we lay the bodies of the dying and the about-to-come-to-life. And if it's honest, true, hiding nothing, revealing all, then it is a raging river and those who ride it find they have something to give—that they are not yet empty. Critics

Memories surfaced and flashed before my mind's eye—the hospital, tear stained nights, never-ending days, loneliness so deep I thought I would drown—and maybe sometimes I wanted to. I flung open the doors of my mind, dug them out of their holes where I'd hidden them from Maggie, and pretty soon ten pads turned into twenty, and all the beauty and wonder—and yes, even ugliness—of my life stared back at me. The mirror told no lies.

If there's no relationship with a father who's absent, nobody talks about it.