wounded

My life comes to me in pictures lately. 
i see myself. 
i am some sort of being, part plant, part flesh... That much is unclear.  i look, and behold the wild fragility of God's creation. 
i am 35.
Most of this being matches that age, and the passage of time has brought about appropriate growth, but there are parts of me that have grown far beyond what is possible in 35 years - thick branches that are strong and beautiful... the areas that He blessed me in and caused me to grow.
i approach this being and draw apart the thick folds of both foliage and humanity, and gasp as i see the wound.
i am concerned as i see the branches around the wound are stunted.
It is, as i told my friend, as though in those areas, i am a mere child.  The growth has slowed or stalled - and the leaves are sickly and ill formed.
The wound is infected.  Over the years, there have been bandages applied, and they are soaked through - pathetic attempts at healing, dirty cloths oozing puss and blood.

Fear is my raging fever.   Unlovable is my delerium. 

And then the Gardener comes. 
He is knowledgable in all things plant and flesh. 
His eyes meet mine, and i know that this moment... this moment... is ordained to bring about healing. 
He parts the thick branches of blessing, and lays bare the rotten bits with dying flesh and stunted growth...
i turn my face away, even now - while i gaze upon the scene with my mind's eye.  It's horrible and painful... it's terrifying and grim. 
But He's there... and my life is in His hands.