The Place of Death
How Unhealed Wounds Shape Us— and How God Leads Us Through Them
A little over a decade ago I interviewed to take my boss’ job when he left our company. He had mentored me for over two years, and I was incredibly fortunate and grateful that he endorsed me and advocated on my behalf. Throughout the hiring process, I had eight hour-long interviews and hit grand slams with each of them. I had even asked each interviewer to make me their top candidate, to which all but one person agreed. I felt incredibly confident the position was mine to lose.
But when the decision was ultimately made, I didn’t get it.
And I was completely devastated. I mean it thoroughly wounded me.
Not getting the position wrecked me.
I’m not trying to be melodramatic. This is what I really felt on the inside. And it was hard not to feel it moment by moment. Even worse, it was hard not to live out of the wound and the pain I was experiencing.
I’m not sure if you have ever lived out of a wound, but let me tell you—it is a place of death.
It is angry.
It is bitter.
It is hateful.
It is prideful.
It is toxic.
And it makes you into someone you were never created to be.
The easiest thing in the world is to ignore the wound and let it fester. And I promise you, it will become the source from which you begin to live. The infection spreads and shows up in how you see people and situations, how you relate to others, and in the words you use and actions you take.
A neglected wound is toxic and leads to death.
And I am ashamed to say, that was me.
Not too long after not getting the position I was talking to a friend. While I came into the new year resolved to mentally move forward, there was still hostility in my words that came from a deep wound. My head was saying it was time to heal, but my wound disagreed—and it was winning the battle of my heart.
That’s when my friend said something that stopped me in my tracks:
“Outside of work you have so much peace, but at work, you have a lot of anger.”
I knew he was right. But it was so hard to hear—so hard to admit.
While I had been trying to move forward, I had actually buried my wound and was living out of it. And while it was toxic, I had never taken the time to face it, to introspect, to pray over it, and open myself up to the healing I desperately needed. I had tried to ignore it and move on, but it was there the whole time—quietly infecting everything.
It’s easy to live with selective introspection. But we all have blind spots. And if I hadn’t been pushed by my friend, I might never have looked inward, asked where this death was coming from, or come face to face with my wound.
The truth was that I had been living out of a painful wound for over a year. And it didn’t begin to heal until I humbly faced it and asked God to meet me in that place of pain.
Here’s the truth: Living in the pain of our suffering can either become an end destination or a passageway.
As an end destination, pain becomes the place where we remain—stuck in bitterness, anger, resentment, and unforgiveness.
As a passageway, pain becomes the path to transformation—to new ways of seeing and experiencing the world.
Suffering breaks us down into insufferable pieces where we can either self-destruct or cry out to God. Our sense of control fades. Our identity feels shaken. And it is there, in that place of pain, that we are faced with a choice: Will this be where I stay? Or will this become the way through?
Question
Where am I still living out of an unhealed wound—and am I willing to bring it into the light so it can become a passageway, not my destination?
Peace,
Brandon