Healing Scabs

A few weeks ago, I foolishly cut my shin with a kitchen knife. I have a fear of bladed articles at the best of times, and the sight of blood makes me lightheaded, so my doing this was a particularly daft endeavour. My sock was soaked and it took some time to stem the flow. Covering it with plasters seemed to retard its healing, so I left it open while in Scotland and a scab duly formed. Although rather unpleasant to look at, a scab is a fantastic token of the body’s ability to rejuvenate and heal. The original cut was 2-3 mm deep, but the scab filled the gap and allowed the skin underneath to heal itself without additional leakage or bacterial infection.

As we approach death through old age, the body’s self-healing propensity diminishes, as our physical frame surrenders itself to Adam’s curse. Before the Fall, if time and opportunity there were to engage with knives, I imagine the healing process would have taken moments or seconds. It is now the fourth week since I acquired my wound, and it is healing nicely, but slowly. There may be scar tissue left behind, a life-long reminder of the event. The healing of wounds is slow and sometimes difficult. Some, especially those which are mental, take even longer. God does heal, and so does time, but only I think at the River’s crossing will all our pains and scars be gone. In the meantime, our wounds may still be apparent, covered by scabs that will one day fall to leave a wholesome and well healed self.