Fostering HopeSample

HEALING TOUCH People go the doctor to be healed. To get relief from their pain. But I don't always know how to heal. Don't always know what to say or what to do. She was 14, with thick auburn hair that fell in unruly layers around her face. She was beautiful, but rough. Even in her short years she had experienced her share of hardship, and it showed, in the stiffness of her posture and the edge in her voice. I found out that she was in 8th grade, and liked math but didn't want anyone to think she was a nerd. She had a brother but didn't get to see him much. She was not a stranger to foster care - had slept in other people's homes off and on for as long as she could remember. Said she'd learned how to fold towels 'correctly' 10 different ways. As she talked, she waved her arms and I saw them. Words carved across her knuckles. Others over the back of her hands and up her forearms. HATE. WORTHLESS. CRAZY. Scabbed. Fresh. Evidence of pain that extended much deeper than the wounds that marked her skin. She seemed surprised when I touched her arms, gently massaging antibiotic ointment into each line, grieving with each stroke. How do I fix that kind of pain? How do I speak life to someone who has only known death? I don't always know how to heal. But I do know how to touch, how to provide the most basic of human contact. So do you. Are you willing?