Originally published Friday, 27 April 2018.
The Girl - this is what she became. She no longer had a name - everyone called her The Girl. The Girl attended church and was a member of the Youth Choir. The Youth Choir blessed others when they sang, but as these things go, not everyone believed or lived what they sang. The choir director could only do so much to ascertain a person's spiritual condition.
The Girl got pregnant. They were many cries of "How could this happen?" "She sang every Sunday," and "Oh my goodness." To hear it being told all of the ones condemning her were near perfect in their youth and never made any mistakes. The Girl left the church and as far as I knew never came back.
To add insult to injury, The Girl and her "condition" became a topic at the next church business meeting. Personally speaking, I strongly detest the business of the church. Anyhow, various members berated the Girl and her situation saying things such as, "policies need to be in place to ensure this didn't happen again." The tone was revolting; there was no love. At that particular point in time, I wondered how the Girl would feel if she were here. I may have gotten up and taken a stand (but I don't remember anymore).
That young lady was a wounded soldier in our midst. Every time I hear this song, I think of that young lady and her woundedness. There have been many wounded soldiers among us.
Life is a battlefield. On a battlefield, we are assaulted and injured. We are at war, so we are bound to get hurt as our enemy is like a roaring lion seeking who he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). When we get hurt, we often try to get back up and continue. But sometimes the hurt is so deep, the wounds so painful, we want just to lay there and die. Then someone comes along - they give us a hand or they lift us and carry us. They move us out of harm's way; they wash our lacerations; they reset our broken bones; they love us to restoration.
Imagine going to a doctor about a particular ailment. Instead of treating you the doctor begins to scold, berate, and disparage you about your illness. After all of this, he never addresses your ailment but dismisses you. How would you feel? So many times this is how we treat the hurting among us. Don't let another wounded soldier die.
Our wounds take many forms - old habits, wrestling with trauma from past experiences, poor decisions, unforeseen circumstances. Sometimes, even though we mean well, we get stuck on the wrong things and in the wrong places. It can happen to any of us. If you come into contact with a hurting person, before you condemn, help. Place the oil of kindness in the wounds to help the person heal. Carry them until they can walk and then minister to them in love. Don't let another wounded soldier die.
But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. Luke 10:33-34
Carlene Davis sings my favorite version of this song, but I could not find that version on Youtube, so this one will do.
Do you know any wounded soldiers? Are you a wounded soldier? Have you ever heard this song?
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