Wounded Healer Quotes

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Only the wounded healer can truly heal. (97)
Irvin D. Yalom (Lying on the Couch)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Pema Chödrön (The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times)
I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it.
Suzanne Collins (Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3))
when the imitation of Christ does not mean to live a life like Christ, but to live your life as authentically as Christ lived his, then there are many ways and forms in which a man can be a Christian.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Who can listen to a story of loneliness and despair without taking the risk of experiencing similar pains in his own heart and even losing his precious peace of mind? In short: “Who can take away suffering without entering it?
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
The mystery of one man is too immense and too profound to be explained by another man.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
We must relinquish our passive observation of the world outside; we can open the door to the world we want. In understanding ourselves, we come to understand the world. In allowing ourselves to heal, we become the healers of the world. In praying for peace, we become bringers of peace. Thus we actualize the power within us to remedy the psychic wounds of humanity.
Marianne Williamson
We have turned doctors into gods and worship their deity by offering up our bodies and our souls - not to mention our worldly goods. And yet paradoxically, they are the most vulnerable of human beings. Their suicide rate is eight times the national average. Their percentage of drug addiction is one hundred times higher And because they are painfully aware that they cannot live up to our expectations, their anguish is unquantifiably intense. They have aptly been called 'wounded healers.' " ~ Barney Livingston, M.D. (Doctors, 1989)
Erich Segal
..."my wounded healer, my beautiful Archer.
Mia Sheridan (Archer's Voice)
Jesus was a revolutionary, who did not become an extremist, since he did not offer an ideology, but Himself.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
when two people have become present to each other, the waiting of one must be able to cross the narrow line between the living or dying of the other.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a covenant between equals. Al Sharpton always says, "We're all created equal, but we don't all end up equal.
Gregory J. Boyle (Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Brené Brown (I Thought It Was Just Me: Women Reclaiming Power and Courage in a Culture of Shame)
I just want to live in a way that either wakes people up or shakes people up. Whether I have opened a wound or opened a heart, I have touched a life and helped bring a change.
Nikki Rowe
Through compassion it is possible to recognize that the craving for love that people feel resides also in our own hearts, that the cruelty the world knows all too well is also rooted in our own impulses. Through compassion we also sense our hope for forgiveness in our friends' eyes and our hatred in their bitter mouths. When they kill, we know that we could have done it; when they give life, we know that we can do the same. For a compassionate person nothing human is alien: no joy and no sorrow, no way of living and no way of dying.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Chiron reminds us that only through recognising and accepting our inner wounds can we find true healing.
Lisa Tenzin-Dolma
I am not delicate. I am skinny dipping at 2am; I am dancing naked under the full moon and playing in the mud. I am the reverberating echoes of a curse word ricocheting off the steeply sloping mountain you thought I couldn’t climb; I am bare skin in the deepest depths of winter; I am the song of courage, and the melody of freedom you long to sing. I am a fearless mother. I am a passionate lover; a devoted friend. I am the healer, the witch, the nurturing of your wounds. I am the heat of a wildfire, the rage of a storm. I am strong. Delicate things are pretty-cute, even. But I am not delicate. I am wild, fierce and unpredictable. I am breathtaking. I am beautiful. I am sacred.
Brooke Hampton
The beginning and the end of all Christian leadership is to give your life for others.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
While much psychology emphasizes the familial causes of angst in humans, the cultural component carries as much weight, for culture is the family of the family. If the family of the family has various sicknesses, then all families within that culture will have to struggle with the same malaises. There is a saying cultura cura, culture cures. If the culture is a healer, the families learn how to heal; they will struggle less, be more reparative, far less wounding, far more graceful and loving. In a culture where the predator rules, all new life needing to be born, all old life needing to be gone, is unable to move and the soul-lives of its citizenry are frozen with both fear and spiritual famine.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés (Women Who Run With the Wolves)
Man's maker was made man that He, Ruler of the stars, might nurse at His mother's breast; that the Bread might hunger, the Fountain thirst, the Light sleep, the Way be tired on its journey; that Truth might be accused of false witnesses, the Teacher be beaten with whips, the Foundation be suspended on wood; that Strength might grow weak; that the Healer might be wounded; that Life might die.
Augustine of Hippo
The man who articulate the movements of his inner life, who can give names to his varied experiences, need no longer be a victim of himself, but is able slowly and consistently to remove the obstacles that prevent the spirit from entering. He is able to create space for Him who heart is greater than his, whose eyes see more than his, and whose hands can heal more than his.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
preaching means more than handing over a tradition; it is rather the careful and sensitive articulation of what is happening in the community
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Compassion is born when we discover in the center of our own existence not only that God is God and man is man, but also that our neighbor is really our fellow man.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
We all are wounded, we all are healers. Time changes, role changes.
Shon Mehta (The Timingila)
every Christian is constantly invited to overcome his neighbor’s fear by entering into it with him, and to find in the fellowship of suffering the way to freedom.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others.
Pema Chödrön (Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating Fearlessness and Compassion)
When we catch sight of the soul, we can become healers in a wounded world-in the family, in the neighborhood, in the workplace, and in political life-as we are called back to our "hidden wholeness" amid the violence of the storm.
Parker J. Palmer (A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life)
Let your heart sing from those wounded places. When you sing your song with everything you've got, it will not only heal you, but it will heal all of us through you.
Gemma B. Benton (Then She Sang A Willow Song: Reclaiming Life and Power with the Ancestors)
Who can save a child from a burning house without taking the risk of being hurt by the flames? Who can listen to a story of loneliness and despair without taking the risk of experiencing similar pains in his own heart and even losing his precious peace of mind? In short: “Who can take away suffering without entering it?
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
experience tells us that we can only love because we are born out of love, that we can only give because our life is a gift, and that we can only make others free because we are set free by Him whose heart is greater than ours. When we have found the anchor places for our lives in our own center, we can be free to let others enter into the space created for them and allow them to dance their own dance, sing their own song and speak their own language without fear.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
But human withdrawal is a very painful and lonely process, because it forces us to face directly our own condition in all its beauty as well as misery.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
A door opens to me. I go in and am faced with a hundred closed doors.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
I talked and he listened, drawing the shame from me like a healer draws infection from a wound.
Tara Westover (Educated)
my wounded healer, my beautiful Archer.
Mia Sheridan (Archer's Voice)
A wise sufferer will look not inward, but outward. There is no more effective healer than a wounded healer, and in the process the wounded healer’s own scars may fade away.
Philip Yancey (Where Is God When It Hurts?)
Why should a man marry and have children, study and build a career; why should he invent new techniques, build new institutions, and develop new ideas--when he doubts if there will be a tomorrow which can guarantee the value of human effort? Crucial here for nuclear man is the lack of a sense of continuity, which is so vital for a creative life. He finds himself part of a nonhistory in which only the sharp moment of the here and now is valuable. For nuclear man life easily becomes a bow whose string is broken and from which no arrow can fly. In his dislocated state he becomes paralyzed. His reactions are not anxiety and joy, which were so much a part of existential man, but apathy and boredom.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”3
Brené Brown (The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are)
In the latter months of his own long sickness the Master Herbal had taught him much of the healer's lore, and the first lesson and the last of all that lore was this: Heal the wound and cure the illness, but let the dying spirit go.
Ursula K. Le Guin (A Wizard of Earthsea (Earthsea Cycle, #1))
Remember also that scars of all sorts are all right. Scars are wounds that have healed, not without a trace, but have healed nonetheless. Think of all the scar tissue around Christ's heart, Jesus our wounded healer.
William Sloane Coffin
The inward man is faced with a new and often dramatic task: He must come to terms with the inner tremendum. Since the God 'out there' or 'up there' is more or less dissolved in the many secular structures, the God within asks attention as never before. And just as the God outside could be experienced not only as a loving father but also as a horrible demon, the God within can be not only the source of a new creative life but also the cause of a chaotic confusion. The greatest complaint of the Spanish mystics St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross was that they lacked a spiritual guide to lead them along the right paths and enable them to distinguish between creative and destructive spirits. We hardly need emphasize how dangerous the experimentation with the interior life can be. Drugs as well as different concentration practices and withdrawal into the self often do more harm than good. On the other hand it also is becoming obvious that those who avoid the painful encounter with the unseen are doomed to live a supercilious, boring and superficial life.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
She was a wonderful teenage girl who had the miraculous power to cure herself from any wound, either physical or mental. With her own salty tears, she would cleanse her raw wounds. And her breaths were given, as though not to breathe but, rather, to fan her sores.
Khadija Rupa (Unexpressed Feelings)
Doc was more than first citizen of Cannery Row. He was healer of the wounded soul and the cut finger.
John Steinbeck (Sweet Thursday (Cannery Row, #2))
Christian leadership is a dead-end street when nothing new is expected, when everything sounds familiar and when ministry has regressed to the level of routine.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals.
Pema Chödrön (The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times (Shambhala Classics))
Thus the authority of compassion is the possibility of man to forgive his brother, because forgiveness is only real for him who has discovered the
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Remember that there exists a certain malevolence about the formation of any social order. It is the struggle for existence by an artificial entity. Despotism and slavery hover at the edges. Many injuries occur and, thus, the need for laws. The law develops its own power structure, creating more wounds and new injustices. Such trauma can be healed by cooperation, not by confrontation. The summons to cooperate identifies the healer.
Frank Herbert (God Emperor of Dune (Dune, #4))
It was divine intervention—the act of starting to turn on the lights to alleviate my discomfort made me think of my favorite quote about darkness and compassion from Pema Chödrön, who writes: “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Brené Brown (Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead)
As a doctor I constantly have to ask myself what kind of message the patient is bringing me. What does he mean to me? If he means nothing, I have no point of attack. The doctor is effective only when he himself is affected. 'Only the wounded physician heals.' But when the doctor wears his personality like a coat of armor, he has no effect.
C.G. Jung (Memories, Dreams, Reflections)
Christian leaders are called to help others affirm this great news, and to make visible in daily events the fact that behind the dirty curtain of our painful symptoms there is something great to be seen: the face of God in whose image we are shaped.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Those who are wounded wound others. Moses was wounded profoundly when he lost his birth family, his heritage, and his history. In the years to come, he would come to know Jehovah-rophe, the Healer of life’s sicknesses and sorrows. Exodus 15: 26b says, “…for I am the Lord, who heals you.” (from Under His Wings: Healing Truth for Adoptees of All Ages)
Beth Willis Miller (Under His Wings...healing truth for adoptees of all ages)
Thornton Wilder’s one-act play “The Angel That Troubled the Waters,” based on John 5:1-4, dramatizes the power of the pool of Bethesda to heal whenever an angel stirred its waters. A physician comes periodically to the pool hoping to be the first in line and longing to be healed of his melancholy. The angel finally appears but blocks the physician just as he is ready to step into the water. The angel tells the physician to draw back, for this moment is not for him. The physician pleads for help in a broken voice, but the angel insists that healing is not intended for him. The dialogue continues—and then comes the prophetic word from the angel: “Without your wounds where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. Physician, draw back.” Later, the man who enters the pool first and is healed rejoices in his good fortune and turning to the physician says: “Please come with me. It is only an hour to my home. My son is lost in dark thoughts. I do not understand him and only you have ever lifted his mood. Only an hour.… There is also my daughter: since her child died, she sits in the shadow. She will not listen to us but she will listen to you.”13 Christians who remain in hiding continue to live the lie. We deny the reality of our sin. In a futile attempt to erase our past, we deprive the community of our healing gift. If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others. We cling to our bad feelings and beat ourselves with the past when what we should do is let go. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, guilt is an idol. But when we dare to live as forgiven men and women, we join the wounded healers and draw closer to Jesus.
Brennan Manning (Abba's Child: The Cry of the Heart for Intimate Belonging with Bonus Content)
The broken humans of the world make the greatest healer.
Abhijit Naskar (Honor He Wrote: 100 Sonnets For Humans Not Vegetables)
Therefore every real revolutionary is challenged to be a mystic at heart, and he who walks the mystical way is called to unmask the illusory quality of human society.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
People say time is the only healer, but my wounded heart only scabs over until a memory comes along and rips it away, bringing me to my knees all over again.
Paige P. Horne (If I'd Known)
The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there. HENRI NOUWEN, THE WOUNDED HEALER
Ruth Haley Barton (Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership: Seeking God in the Crucible of Ministry (The Transforming Center Set))
The wounded surgeon plies the steel That questions the distempered part; Beneath the bleeding hands we feel The sharp compassion of the healer’s art Resolving the enigma of the fever chart. Our only health is the disease If we obey the dying nurse Whose constant care is not to please But remind of our, and Adam’s curse, And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse. The whole earth is our hospital Endowed by the ruined millionaire
T.S. Eliot (Four Quartets)
Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not 'How can we hide our wounds?' so we don't have to be embarrassed but 'How can we put our roundedness in the service of others?' When our wounds cease to be a source of shame and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.
Henri J.M. Nouwen
Building a vocation on the expectations of concrete results, however conceived, is like building a house on sand instead of on solid rock, and even takes away the ability to accept successes as free gifts.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
you can’t ask Christ to come into your wound while you remain far from it. You have to go there with him. Lord Jesus, I give my life to you—everything I am, everything I have become. I surrender myself to you utterly. Come and be my Lord. Be my healer. I give you my wounded heart. Come and meet me here. Enter my heart and soul, my wounds and brokenness, and bring your healing love to me in these very places.
John Eldredge (Wild at Heart: Discovering the Secret of a Man's Soul)
The definition of compassion that most accurately reflects what I’ve learned from the research is from American Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön. In her book The Places That Scare You, Chödrön writes: When we practice generating compassion, we can expect to experience our fear of pain. Compassion practice is daring. It involves learning to relax and allow ourselves to move gently toward what scares us….In cultivating compassion we draw from the wholeness of our experience—our suffering, our empathy, as well as our cruelty and terror. It has to be this way. Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Brené Brown (Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution.)
We all have made the mistake of thinking someone else can be our healer, our thriller, our filling. It takes a long time to find it is not so, mostly because we project the wound outside ourselves instead of ministering to it within. There is probably nothing a woman wants more from a man than for him to dissolve his projections and face his own wound. When a man faces his wound, the tear comes naturally, and his loyalties within and without are made clearer and stronger. He becomes his own healer; he is no longer lonely for the deeper Self. He no longer applies to the woman to be his analgesic.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés (Women Who Run With the Wolves)
One has to be wounded in order to become a healer. This is the local image of a universal mythological motif, which is described in Eliade's book about the initiation of medicine men and shamans. Nobody becomes either one or the other without first having been wounded, either cut open by the initiator and having certain magical stones inserted into his body, or a spear thrown at his neck, or some such thing. Generally, the experiences are ecstatic – stars or ghost-like demons – hit them or cut them open, but always they have to be pierced or cut apart before they become healers, for that is how they acquire the capacity for healing others.
Marie-Louise von Franz (The Problem of the Puer Aeternus (Studies in Jungian Psychology by Jungian Analysts, 87))
Listen well, as I speak of my upsurge; For I’m a lover, without a lover I am a flame, without a combustion I am a novice, without a mentor I am a healer, without a wounded I am a winner, without a trophy I’m a captain, without a devotee And above all, I’m alone – not lonely
Zubair Ahsan (Of Endeavours Blue)
Our preacher Veronica said recently that this is life's nature: that lives and hearts get broken -- those of people we love, those of people we'll never meet. She said that the world sometimes feels like the waiting room of the emergency ward and that and that we who are more or less OK for now need to take the tenderest possible care of the more wounded people in the waiting room, until the healer comes. You sit with people, she said, you bring them juice and graham crackers.
Anne Lamott (Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith)
Days after the elections of 2016, asha sent me a link to a talk by astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson. We have to have hope, she says to me across 3,000 miles, she in Brooklyn, me in Los Angeles. We listen together as Dr. deGrasse Tyson explains that the very atoms and molecules in our bodies are traceable to the crucibles in the centers of stars that once upon a time exploded into gas clouds. And those gas clouds formed other stars and those stars possessed the divine-right mix of properties needed to create not only planets, including our own, but also people, including us, me and her. He is saying that not only are we in the universe, but that the universe is in us. He is saying that we, human beings, are literally made out of stardust. And I know when I hear Dr. deGrasse Tyson say this that he is telling the truth because I have seen it since I was a child, the magic, the stardust we are, in the lives of the people I come from. I watched it in the labor of my mother, a Jehovah's Witness and a woman who worked two and sometimes three jobs at a time, keeping other people's children, working the reception desks at gyms, telemarketing, doing anything and everything for 16 hours a day the whole of my childhood in the Van Nuys barrio where we lived. My mother, cocoa brown and smooth, disowned by her family for the children she had as a very young and unmarried woman. My mother, never giving up despite never making a living wage. I saw it in the thin, brown face of my father, a boy out of Cajun country, a wounded healer, whose addictions were borne of a world that did not love him and told him so not once but constantly. My father, who always came back, who never stopped trying to be a version of himself there were no mirrors for. And I knew it because I am the thirteenth-generation progeny of a people who survived the hulls of slave ships, survived the chains, the whips, the months laying in their own shit and piss. The human beings legislated as not human beings who watched their names, their languages, their Goddesses and Gods, the arc of their dances and beats of their songs, the majesty of their dreams, their very families snatched up and stolen, disassembled and discarded, and despite this built language and honored God and created movement and upheld love. What could they be but stardust, these people who refused to die, who refused to accept the idea that their lives did not matter, that their children's lives did not matter?
Patrisse Khan-Cullors (When They Call You a Terrorist: A Black Lives Matter Memoir)
what is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Andren was an elf by nature and a healer by trade, a spell caster with the ability to bind wounds through magical means.
Robert J. Crane (Defender, Avenger, Champion (Sanctuary #1-3))
A favorite concept of mine comes from Henri Nouwen’s book The Wounded Healer. The premise of the book is that as we travel life’s journey from childhood to adulthood we acquire wounds along the way. A wound can be any unresolved social, emotional, relational issue that still impacts our lives. These wounds can be inflicted by negative cultural messages or experiences with parents, peers, or adults with power and authority over us. Unresolved, these wounds can leave us with a sense of deficiency or inferiority. We can let unhealed wounds drive us and risk hurting our players through endless self-serving transactions, or we can heal ourselves and then help heal our players. Nouwen says we have two choices: Either we deny, repress, or dissociate from the wounding and therefore wound others with our unhealed injuries, or we bring healing to our wounds and offer our healed wounds to others to heal and transform their lives. I am a wounded healer and this is the story of my wounds, their healing, and the transformation in coaching that ensued because I chose to process and grieve over my pain instead of hiding it and acting it out.
Joe Ehrmann (insideout coaching)
One day a young fugitive, trying to hide himself from the enemy, entered a small village. The people were kind to him and offered him a place to stay. But when the soldiers who sought the fugitive asked where he was hiding, everyone became very fearful. The soldiers threatened to burn the village and kill every man in it unless the young man were handed over to them before dawn. The people went to the minister and asked him what to do. The minister, torn between handing over the boy to the enemy or having his people killed, withdrew to his room and read his Bible, hoping to find an answer before dawn. After many hours, in the early morning his eyes fell on these words: “It is better that one man dies than that the whole people be lost.” Then the minister closed the Bible, called the soldiers and told them where the boy was hidden. And after the soldiers led the fugitive away to be killed, there was a feast in the village because the minister had saved the lives of the people. But the minister did not celebrate. Overcome with a deep sadness, he remained in his room. That night an angel came to him, and asked, “What have you done?” He said: “I handed over the fugitive to the enemy.” Then the angel said: “But don’t you know that you have handed over the Messiah?” “How could I know?” the minister replied anxiously. Then the angel said: “If, instead of reading your Bible, you had visited this young man just once and looked into his eyes, you would have known.” While versions of this story are very old, it seems the most modern of tales. Like that minister, who might have recognized the Messiah if he had raised his eyes from his Bible to look into the youth’s eyes, we are challenged to look into the eyes of the young men and women of today, who are running away from our cruel ways. Perhaps that will be enough to prevent us from handing them over to the enemy and enable us to lead them out of their hidden places into the middle of their people where they can redeem us from our fears.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
I think more people would stay active in church, if they didn't get so offended by the actions of members. Sometimes, you have to view places of worship as free mental health clinics, in order to deal with the piety or hypocrisy. Parishioners are a wounded souls in various stages of healing, who are being treated by angels, with credentials from the University of Hard Knocks. Some take their therapy seriously and try to practice what they learned. Yet, others down the sacrament like a healing dose of Prozac, with no other effort required. When you keep this in mind, you won't feel so annoyed by the personalities you encounter.
Shannon L. Alder
Pema Chödrön. In her book The Places That Scare You, Chödrön writes: When we practice generating compassion, we can expect to experience our fear of pain. Compassion practice is daring. It involves learning to relax and allow ourselves to move gently toward what scares us….In cultivating compassion we draw from the wholeness of our experience—our suffering, our empathy, as well as our cruelty and terror. It has to be this way. Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Brené Brown (Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution.)
The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there. Our lives are filled with examples which tell us that leadership asks for understanding and that understanding requires sharing.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
And what’s a healer’s touch like?” she asked, working quickly to push the needle through and tie off another knot, closing his wound with each stitch. “Light as a feather. Like this.” He moved his hand from her arm to her breast. His fingertips brushed the bared skin above her bodice in teasing strokes. She held herself still, beguiled by the sensation. She’d never have guessed her body would react so to a man. She should be afraid, she knew, but her only fear was that he’d stop. His touch moved down, between the stiff boning of her bodice and the soft, thin chemise, circling her nipple slowly through the cloth of her undergarment. Oh, how he made her ache. He tormented that needy skin with his nearness. She fought the urge to squirm into his touch. When he finally flicked a nail over it, a jolt of wickedness shot from her breast to her womb.
Connie Mason (Sins of the Highlander)
I had tried, as best I could, to forget the people who had said they loved me, and I had been able to do so only by replacing their memory with hatred for them and their crimes. Time is no healer. It scabs the wound until the injury is forgotten, but the infection festers, eating away, spreading.
Wesley Stace (Misfortune)
Healer Myrim made no attempt to conceal the fact that Orthallen's treachery had not surprised her. Nor did she conceal that his demise gave her a certain grim satisfaction. But then, she might well be forgiven such uncharitable thoughts; she was one of the four Healers who were tending Talia's wounds.
Mercedes Lackey (Arrow's Fall (Heralds of Valdemar, #3))
ON A DAY LATE THAT JANUARY, I READ AGAIN “EAST Coker” by the poet T. S. Eliot, and saw something that I had forgotten: the stark but beautiful metaphor by which he described God as a wounded surgeon whose bleeding hands apply a scalpel to his patients so that “Beneath the bleeding hands we feel / The sharp compassion of the healer’s art.
Dean Koontz (Innocence)
Lord Jesus Christ, You are the Healer and our true Comforter. You hold us in the palm of Your hand. Lord, right now we want to remember, in the power of Jesus’ name, any emotional wounding that’s happened to us, any great loss we’ve experienced, any wrong that’s been done to us that we haven’t forgiven. We want to purposely name in prayer the reason for the pain we feel. Lord, we bring that wounded and bruised experience to You and place it at Your feet. Father, we acknowledge to You this great hurt and pray specifically for holy forgetfulness. We submit these memories to You and ask that You would heal us. Where there has been a lack of forgiveness, let there now be forgiveness in the power of Jesus’ name. I choose now, by an act of my will, to forgive every person who has ever wronged me and to release bitterness and unforgiveness in Jesus’ name. I choose to forgive myself for the wrong and shameful things I’ve done and to receive God’s forgiveness through Jesus Christ. Where we have held on to feelings of being hurt, please take those feelings now and remove them from our lives. Where there are feelings of great loss, remind us that You hold all of life in Your sovereign hands.
Robert Morris (Truly Free: Breaking the Snares That So Easily Entangle)
Kenya, Kazakhstan and K Street too? Yes...that all of God's people might love and serve him with gladness and singleness of heart, in our various vocations taking the wounds of the world into our hearts - the heartaches and longings, sorrows and disappointments, and sometimes evil - and finding in that calling that our own hearts are healed too. In N.T. Wright's theologically rich image, becoming healed healers. May it be so.
Steven Garber (The Fabric of Faithfulness: Weaving Together Belief and Behavior)
Your inner healing and spiritual growth are secondary to your relationship with God. It’s easy to get so caught up with trying to heal your internal wounds that you forget to build your relationship with the healer. It is also easy to get so ambitious in the pursuit of gifts and anointing that you forget that your father is the giver. More often than not, getting rid of demonic influence is as simple as hearing what God has to say about your life.
Blake K. Healy (The Veil)
The wounded surgeon plies the steel That questions the distempered part; Beneath the bleeding hands we feel The sharp compassion of the healer’s art Resolving the enigma of the fever chart. Our only health is the disease If we obey the dying nurse Whose constant care is not to please But remind of our, and Adam’s curse, And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse. The whole earth is our hospital Endowed by the ruined millionaire
T.S. Eliot
Dawn was casting spun-gold threads across a rosy sky over Sawubona Game Reserve as Martine Allen took a last look around to ensure there weren’t any witnesses, leaned forward like a jockey on the track, wound her fingers through a tangle of silver mane, and cried, ‘Go, Jemmy, go!’ The white giraffe sprang forward so suddenly that she was almost unseated, but she recovered and, wrapping her arms around his neck, quickly adjusted to the familiar rhythm of Jemmy’s rocking-horse stride.
Lauren St. John (The Last Leopard: Book 3 (Animal Healer series))
Do not fall into despair because of stumbling. I do not mean that you should not feel contrition for your sins but that you should not think them incurable. For it is more expedient to be bruised than dead. There is, indeed, a Healer for the person who has stumbled, even he who on the cross asked that mercy be shown to his crucifiers, he who pardoned his murderer while he hung on the cross.... Christ came in behalf of sinners to heal the broken of heart and to bandage their wounds. "The
Cindy Crosby (Ancient Christian Devotional: Lectionary Cycle B (Ancient Christian Devotional Set))
She gasped when she exposed the wound, his flesh split open and brimming with blood. Swallowing her dread, she pressed her hand to it and in her other, she squeezed a Healer’s Touch spellstone. She cast it once, twice, three times, until all it’s magick had depleted. The blood stopped flowing. Still, the wound didn’t close. She moved on to the next stone. And the next one. “Come on, Al.” And the next. And the next. Finally the wound closed, and his broken patella was mostly set, but she exhausted the stones and Alistair hadn’t opened his eyes. Clutching his hand, Isobel rested her cheek against his chest, listening for a pulse. At first, all she heard was the noise of the forest crickets and owls. Then she finally made out his heartbeat—faint but there—and far beyond, the sound of approaching footsteps. Probably Finley and Elinor returning to finish her, too. “Seven letters,” she whispered to Alistair. “To endure.” “Survive,” she heard him rasp. She almost thought she’d imagined it at first, but then she lifted her head and realized his eyes were open, watching her. He let out a wheezy breath, then smiled. She realized she’d never seen Alistair smile in a way that wasn’t meant to be a threat. “Hello, rival,” he whispered.
Amanda Foody, christine lynn Herman (All of Us Villains (All of Us Villains, #1))
You do seem like you’ve had a lot of practice, and some schooling, too, which surprises me. When I first met you, I took you for a soldier.” “A soldier? Why a soldier?” “Because the king of Arden uses his mages to kill people, not to heal them. Plus, you have the body of a soldier.” She reached out and squeezed his muscled arm, then quickly let go, flustered. “I mean, you didn’t get those muscles stitching up wounds or mixing potions.” “I don’t do much of that around here. I scrub a lot of floors, I’m a demon with a mortar and pestle, and I’ve been shoveling a lot of horse dung, too.” “There’s never any shortage of that,” Jenna said. The healer laughed. “No,” he said. “Especially not at court.
Cinda Williams Chima (Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1))
The first and most basic task of the minister of tomorrow is to clarify the immense confusion which can arise when people enter this new internal world. It is a painful fact indeed to realize how poorly prepared most Christian leaders prove to be when they are invited to be spiritual leaders in the true sense. Most of them are used to thinking in terms of large-scale organization, getting people together in churches … running the show as a circus director. They have become unfamiliar with, and even somewhat afraid of, the deep and significant movements of the Spirit. I am afraid that in a few decades the Church will be accused of having failed in its most basic task: to offer men creative ways to communicate with the source of human life.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Used to be when a bird flew into a window, Milly and Twiss got a visit. Milly would put a kettle on and set out whatever culinary adventure she'd gone on that day. For morning arrivals, she offered her famous vanilla drop biscuits and raspberry jam. Twiss would get the medicine bag from the hall closet and sterilize the tools she needed, depending on the seriousness of the injury. A wounded limb was one thing. A wounded crop was another. People used to come from as far away as Reedsburg and Wilton. Milly would sit with them while Twiss patched up the 'poor old robin' or the 'sweet little meadowlark.' Over the years, the number of visitors had dwindled. Now that the grocery store sold ready-bake biscuits and jelly in all the colors of the rainbow, people didn't bother as much about birds.
Rebecca Rasmussen (The Bird Sisters)
Trump defended what he had said. “It’s not as if one side has any sort of [monopoly] on hatred or on bigotry. It’s not as if any one group is at fault or anything like that. With the media, you’re never going to get a fair shake. Anything that you say or do is going to be criticized.” “You need to fix this,” Porter argued. “You don’t want to be perceived the way in which you’re being perceived now. You need to bring the country together.” That was the moral obligation. “There’s no upside to not directly condemn neo-Nazis and those that are motivated by racial animus. There is a huge rift in the country.” Porter played heavily to the president’s ego and desire to be at the center. He said that the president could be a kind of healer in chief, consoler in chief. “The country is counting on you rhetorically to help salve the wounds and point a direction forward,” Porter said. The president could inspire and uplift. He could make this about him, the redeemer. Trump did not push back but he didn’t say yes.
Bob Woodward (Fear: Trump in the White House)
Elspeth had the joyous task of breaking the news to the rest of the Council. There was no such accord among the political leaders of Valdemar as there was among her military leaders. Lord Gartheser was speechless with outrage and shock; Bard Hyron was dazed. Lady Kester and Lady Cathan, still seething over Orthallen's accusations of complicity with the slavers, were surprised, but not altogether unhappy. Father Aldon had closeted himself in the tiny chapel of the Keep; Lord Gildas was with him. Healer Myrim made no attempt to conceal the fact that Orthallen's treachery had not surprised her. Nor did she conceal that his demise gave her a certain grim satisfaction. But then, she might well be forgiven such uncharitable thoughts; she was one of the four Healers who were tending Talia's wounds. Once the bare bones had been told to the Councillors as a group, Elspeth went to each of these Councillors in turn, privately. She gave a simple explanation of what had occurred, but would answer no questions. Questions, she told them, must wait until Talia had recovered enough to tell them all more.
Mercedes Lackey (Arrow's Fall (Heralds of Valdemar, #3))
I challenge you to invite the Word of God into your life experience. To begin this process right now, let’s arrest this moment with prayer. Dear heavenly Father, I thank you that I am all that you say about me. Forgive me for reducing your image and for the times I bowed down to idols of my own making. I refuse to worship limited images set up by human hands. Holy Spirit, reveal any area in my life where these idols yet have sway. You are love, and therefore not only am I loved, but I can also love others as you do. You are my source of life and the very reason I draw breath. You are able to finish what you begin in my life, and you have made me capable of all that you have set before me. In Christ I am your daughter, and because my heavenly Father is almighty, I have all the might I need by your Spirit. You are my ultimate healer; I will no longer look to the world to heal the very wounds it inflicted. Because you are the source of all wisdom, I will lean into your counsel. Forgive me for the times I allowed your expression in my life to be limited to the crusts and crumbs of others. I want to know you intimately and profoundly. I believe that you are more than I have ever imagined, and I invite you to lead me into a life of unrivaled wonder. Because of who you are, I am who you say I am. Regardless of what I feel in this moment, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. In the name of Jesus, amen.
Lisa Bevere (Without Rival: Embrace Your Identity and Purpose in an Age of Confusion and Comparison)
Flames lit every surface in the caves and lava floes burned all around him, like some version of the Realm of Death he had heard tales of in his youth. There were flames leaping out of holes in the walls and floor like fiery stalagmites. Cyrus Davidon stood in the midst of it all, minding his steps very carefully, lest his black armor end up blacker still from an inadvertent scorching. The sweat rolled off his face as he surveyed the group around him. Over one hundred adventurers, all with common purpose. They had come to this place intending to slay a dragon. There was some nobility in that, Cyrus reflected, but it was diminished by the fact that the dragon was trapped in these depths and not a threat to anyone but those looking for it. Which meant that most of them were here for the dragon’s sizeable treasure hoard. “There’s nothing like fighting for your life with a small army of opportunists to watch your back, is there?” Cyrus murmured. “You’re not joking. It makes you wonder if there’s even one of this lot we can trust,” came the voice of Narstron a dwarf who had traveled with Cyrus for many seasons and had shared a great many adventures with him. “Trust is earned, not given. This group is so raw they’ll be dead before they even prove themselves,” came the voice on the other side of Narstron. Andren was an elf by nature and a healer by trade, a spell caster with the ability to bind wounds through magical means. “This lot has seen far too few seasons – and this is likely their last. Dragons aren’t to be trifled with.” He peered
Robert J. Crane (Defender, Avenger, Champion (Sanctuary #1-3))
9:36a    ἰδὼν δὲ τούς ὄχλους ἐσπλαγχνίσθη πεϱὶ αὐτῶν seeing the crowds, his insides were moved with pity for them THE JEWS AND THE GREEKS could not succeed in making pity and compassion into a purely mental act. It sounds archaic, hardly short of embarrassing, to say that “Jesus saw the crowds and felt pity for them in his bowels.” But, in fact, any translation that omits compassion’s element of viscerality (for σπλάγχνα, the root of the verb here, means “viscera”, “bowels”, “womb”) has already betrayed the depth of Jesus’ divine and human pity. We all know how the strongest emotions—whether sorrow, fear, joy, or desire—are all initially registered in the abdominal region, and this physiological reaction is one of the proofs of the authenticity of our emotions. The same teacher, herald, and healer who surpassed all others in these crafts finally reveals himself in utter silence and inactivity in his deepest nature: the Compassionate One who is affected by suffering more elementally than the sufferers he sees around him. If Mary’s womb was proclaimed blessed for having borne such a Child, we now see in the Son the Mother’s most precious quality: wide-wombed compassion. When we allow ourselves to be moved in this way, we are already hopelessly involved with the object of our pity: no possibility here of a distanced display of “charity” that refuses to become tainted by contact with the stench of human misery. Jesus looks at the crowds, then, and is viscerally moved. What power in the gaze of a Savior who pauses in the midst of his activity in order to take into himself the full, wounded reality about him! Jesus never protects himself against the claims of distress. He is not content with emanating the truth, joy, and healing power that are his: he must become a fellow sufferer. His loving gaze is like an open wound that filters out no sorrow. He has already done so much for them; but as long as he sees misery, nothing is enough; and so he wonders what else remains to be done. His contemplative sorrow becomes a stimulant to his creative imagination. He nestles all manner of plight within his person, and every human need becomes a churning in his inward parts. He interiorizes the chaos of the surrounding landscape, but, by entering him, it becomes contained, comprehended, embraced and saved.
Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis (Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word: Meditations on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, Vol. 1)
Recovery is a “turning point,” a social process in which an individual undergoes a massive transformation in identity accompanied by the introduction to new significant others (their new “tribe”) and new ways of defining the events of their life. By defining ourselves as “wounded healers,” addicts take on a time-honored role for the tribal shaman. Wounded healers serve a vital purpose for their tribe — using their own insight into the dark journey of the soul to bring light to others who still suffer.
Wayne Mellinger, "The Amethyst Path" Noozhawk
Cellular biologist Glen Rein, Ph.D., conceived of a series of experiments to test healers’ ability to affect biological systems. [...] In Dr. Rein’s experiment, he first studied a group of ten individuals who were well practiced in using techniques that Heart-Math teaches to build heart-focused coherence. They applied the techniques to produce strong, elevated feelings such as love and appreciation, then for two minutes, they held vials containing DNA samples suspended in deionized water. When those samples were analyzed, no statistically significant changes had occurred. A second group of trained participants did the same thing, but instead of just creating positive emotions (a feeling) of love and appreciation, they simultaneously held an intention (a thought) to either wind or unwind the strands of DNA. This group produced statistically significant changes in the conformation (shape) of the DNA samples. In some cases the DNA was wound or unwound as much as 25 percent! A third group of trained subjects held a clear intent to change the DNA, but they were instructed not to enter into a positive emotional state. In other words, they were only using thought (intention) to affect matter. The result? No changes to the DNA samples. [...] Only when subjects held both heightened emotions and clear objectives in alignment were they able to produce the intended effect. An intentional thought needs an energizer, a catalyst—and that energy is an elevated emotion.
Joe Dispenza (Breaking The Habit of Being Yourself: How to Lose Your Mind and Create a New One)
my favorite quote about darkness and compassion from Pema Chödrön, who writes: “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Brené Brown (Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead)
Our journeys through the darkness of suffering can lead us to find glimmers of light that can not only end our suffering but bring healing to the world. Every wound presents its gifts. A “wounded healer” is an individual who is able to draw upon their own experiences with suffering as a resource for helping others through the process of healing. A wounded healer has discovered the gifts of their own wounds.
Wayne Mellinger, "The Gift of Our Wounds"
I have learned that recovery happens in relationships. We do not do it alone and when we are in our darkest moments we must develop the humility to reach out and ask for help. If we are lucky we will connect with another wounded healer who has been there and can aid us in our journey. It is in the darkness of our suffering that we locate the glimmers of light that will guide us on our journey of healing.
Wayne Mellinger, "The Gift of Our Wounds"
If I am wounded, I have in turn been given the resources needed to heal the wounded person standing next to me.
Craig D. Lounsbrough
Effective helpers are like those who hold a candle in the darkness and then light another’s candle with their flame. 14 These helpers do not make the other depend on their light. Neither do they give their candle away. Instead, the helper assists the other to brighten, to blossom, to flourish. So it is with the wounded healer.
Elizabeth Johnston-Taylor (What Do I Say?: Talking with Patients about Spirituality)
It becomes dramatically instructive under overcrowded conditions. The ghetto is lethal. Psychic stresses of overcrowding create pressures which will erupt. The city is an attempt to manage these forces. The social forms by which cities make the attempt are worth study. Remember that there exists a certain malevolence about the formation of any social order. It is the struggle for existence by an artificial entity. Despotism and slavery hover at the edges. Many injuries occur and, thus, the need for laws. The law develops its own power structure, creating more wounds and new injustices. Such trauma can be healed by cooperation, not by confrontation. The summons to cooperate identifies the healer.
Frank Herbert (God Emperor of Dune (Dune, #4))
Healers learned the intricate work of healing wounds, while Heartrenders became soldiers—experts at doing damage, not undoing it. It was a different way of thinking about what was essentially the same power. But the living asked more of you than the dead. A killing stroke took decision, clarity of intent. Healing was slow, deliberate, a rhythm that required thoughtful study of each small choice.
Leigh Bardugo (Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1))
PAIN IS SUBJECTIVE Not all wounds are visible. Not all tears can be seen. Not every pain can be obvious. Not all scars can be vanished. Not all broken hearts can be noticed. Not all situations can be forgotten. Not all broken bones can be mended. Only God our healer who can help us with pain.
Euginia Herlihy
Since the awful day King Jupiter fell and the Great Wood was lost to tyranny, our world has been wounded to its heart. No greater peril has existed for us since Whitson Mariner’s trekkers first came to this place. There are secret citadels, though only a few, which have kept alive a hope of invading and retaking the Great Wood. I wish them well, and part of my sewing and mending goes to support them. But there’s another kind of mending that must be done. This place is full of farmers, artists, carpenters, midwives, cooks, poets, healers, singers, smiths, weavers— workers of all kinds. We’re all doing our part.” “But what good will all that do?” Heather asked. “Shouldn’t everyone fight for the Great Wood—for King Jupiter’s cause?” “Sure we should,” Mrs. Weaver said. “In a sense. Some must bear arms and
S.D. Smith (The Green Ember (The Green Ember #1))
Your entire heart has been scarred through the years; seek the healer who heightens the senses and helps you feel alive. There, you will find the medicine to mend the wounds and restore life.
RJ Intindola – (Gandolfo) – 2005
Wounded healers are GOD's Greatest weapons.
Mario Murillo (Vessels of Fire and Glory: Breaking Demonic Spells Over America to Release a Great Awakening)
Wounded healers need bandages themselves. You can't save anyone if you bleed to death.
Tanya Huff
The institutional church has become a wounder of the healers rather than a healer of the wounded.
Brennan Manning (The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out)
Honor He Wrote Sonnet 19 From error to error, we'll correct our errors. From failure to failure, we shall rise high. From despair to despair, our fears disappear. From scar to scar, our heart learns to fly. From one jinx to another, we become destiny. From darkness to darkness, we become light. One wound to another, we become the cure. From one loss to another, we understand life. Dust bite after dust bite, all dust become ointment. One lost road after another, we draw a new map. Teardrops upon teardrops, all tears turn elixir. One screw-up after another, we learn to grow up. One heartbreak to another, we become the healer. Bearing crisis upon crisis, we shall rise as creator.
Abhijit Naskar (Honor He Wrote: 100 Sonnets For Humans Not Vegetables)
Hospitality is the virtue which allows us to break through the narrowness of our own fears and to open our houses to the stranger, with the intuition that salvation
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
The paradox indeed is that those who want to be for “everyone” find themselves often unable to be close to anyone.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
being alive means being loved.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Beneath the compulsion to over-give is the wound of undervaluing our own worth. When religion makes money the root of all evil, those of us who are spiritually inclined feel that it is greedy, selfish, or sinful to be prosperous. We may even feel like it is more spiritual or noble to shun material wealth completely. But as physical safety and stability are root chakra concerns (the first energy center at the base of your spine), when you don’t feel financially secure, you can’t cultivate the higher chakra gifts of creativity, joy, service, and self-actualization. Any “starving artist” or ascetic healer will tell you that worrying about their basic needs is far from conducive to their ability to work joyfully and effectively. Ironically, the world’s religious organizations are themselves profoundly wealthy. One only needs to look at their monuments to see that massive amounts of money are required to construct their institutions. The ordained leaders are either paid salaries or have their material needs completely met so that they can live lives of service. Their ability to be charitable also depends on their ability to amass funding. And yet, even while they require money to thrive, they often condemn their followers from desiring and acquiring it. Since Mother Earth as a Goddess represents living abundantly in Her physical paradise now, (rather than waiting to live in the spiritual paradise in the afterlife), condemning money is yet another way of minimizing and shaming all that is earthly and feminine. But Pachamama is here to remind you that it is rightful and holy for you to be wealthy, beloved, because the Divine itself is infinite creativity, expansion, and abundance. There is no shame in claiming your Divine inheritance, and there is no glory in denying yourself the Divine’s loving support in all ways—material and spiritual.
Syma Kharal (Goddess Reclaimed: 13 Initiations to Unleash Your Sacred Feminine Power)
Ilost my left eye during blades training at assassin school. My twin brother did the deed using a clever feint and a quick crosswise cut that caught me by surprise. “Well, Carmen, that’ll leave a scar,” Corwin had said. Then he’d laughed that snorty, snotty laugh that had grated on my nerves a thousand times since childhood. My vision had been too blurry to aim a cutting blow at him, and I wasn’t certain if I even wanted to. He was the only family I had. And despite his laughter, he may not have known how deep the wound was. He often made a silly joke when he’d done something stupid. But when I stumbled and fell toward the floor, Corwin dropped his blade and caught me. “Aw, sorry, sis,” he said, holding me against his chest. Then the healers rushed in with their bandages and salves and led me to the healing room. Maestru Alesius—my master—soon followed them, bringing the bad news: “You will lose that eye, Carmen.” I was thirteen. I’d been ahead of my brother on the honor roll—the top of the class. I often wondered if a bout of jealousy inspired my blinding. The blades were sharp, but we students weren’t supposed to cut each other—the idea was to keep the mind sharp as well. And I’d love to know where he’d learned the move. I’d never seen it before, and I was better with the sword than him. Did he have a secret teacher? Everything was harder with only one eye—the sword fights, the dagger throws, learning to avoid traps; even the poisons and potions were more difficult to pour. A half-blind assassin was a joke. I was pretty certain my fellow students had chuckled and celebrated as my position on the honor roll slipped. I had the knowledge and the skill. But the patch over my eye meant I had a weakness, and the school trained assassins to exploit weaknesses. I’d have quit, perhaps to be a scullery maid or to work in the massive wheat fields of the Akkad Empire, if only to get away from the other apprentice assassins who had once been beneath me and who now scorned me. I especially wanted to flee from the kinder ones who looked at me with pity. But Maestru Alesius had insisted I stay. “Adversity will toughen your mental bones,” he’d promised. His support and my perseverance had kept me in school. Three years had passed since the incident. Three years of struggling to keep my spot. I was finally sixteen, in my final week of classes. Corwin would graduate at the top of the honor roll. He was the best with bladed weapons, the best at hiding in shadows, the best assassin the school had seen in many years. He may even be better than the legendary Banderius. All the kings, queens, and archons would seek to hire Corwin. Maybe even Emperor Rima himself. I’d be lucky to get hired at all.
Arthur Slade (Dragon Assassin Omnibus: Parts 1-8)
Eventually it came to health care. Here a remarkable exchange took place among Cubans, while the Angolans listened in silence. It began when Rodolfo Puente Ferro, the able Cuban ambassador in Angola, said, “There are regions, provincial capitals, where really there is no medicine. The sick are given prescriptions, but then they have to go to the witch doctor, to the traditional healer, because there is no medicine. The mortality rate is high because of this lack of medicine.” The Cuban health authorities had tried to help, offering fifty-five types of medicine that were manufactured in Cuba, “that are really necessary and indispensable for the diseases that are found in Angola.” They had offered them at cost—$700,000 for a six-month supply. After months of silence, the Angolans had finally asked for twenty-nine of these medicines, but they had not yet been shipped because Luanda had failed to release the requisite letters of credit. Castro asked, “Can we manufacture this medicine for $700,000?” After Puente Ferro confirmed that this was possible, Fidel continued, “Well . . . then let’s do it and send it to Angola, and let them pay later. . . . We don’t want to make any profit with this medicine; we will sell it at cost. . . . If the situation is critical, we’ll send it on the first available ship, and let them pay later.” He insisted, “We cannot let a man die in a hospital, or a child, or an old person, or a wounded person, or a soldier, or whoever it may be, because someone forgot to write a letter of credit or because someone didn’t sign it. Besides, we’re not talking about large quantities. We won’t go bankrupt if you can’t pay. We won’t be ruined. If we were talking about one hundred million dollars, I would have to say, ‘Comrades, we cannot afford it.’ But if we’re only talking about $700,000 . . . We can handle it.
Piero Gleijeses (Piero Gleijeses' International History of the Cold War in Southern Africa, Omnibus E-Book: Includes Conflicting Missions and Visions of Freedom)
Compassion must become the core and even the nature of authority. When the Christian leader is a man of God for the future generation, he can be so only insofar as he is able to make the compassion of God with man—which is visible in Jesus Christ—credible in his own world.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
I’m no witch. I’m a healer,” Vivian protested as she shuffled back, searching the ground for a rock or a stick, anything with which to defend herself. The man forced a gurgling laugh as he strode toward her, his weapon trained on her, his wounded body tense. “I’ve seen yer magic with my own eyes.” “Saving a boy’s life is not magic.” Fear gripped her as a contorted smile came to his lips. She clutched the end of a stick.
Gerri Russell (Seven Nights with a Scot (All The King’s Men, #1))
Healing stories are magickal tales born from personal tribulation and victory, which are then shared.
S. Kelley Harrell, M. Div. (Teen Spirit Guide to Modern Shamanism)
The mutual, reciprocal transformation involved in unconscious countertransference/transference means mutual vulnerability. Vulnerability means, literally, “woundability,” and Jung and Jungians move here into considerations of analysts as “wounded healers.
Anonymous
He is the healer of the brokenhearted. He is the one who bandages their wounds.
Anonymous (Daily Light on the Daily Path: Morning and Evening Devotionals from God's Word® (Gods Word Translation))
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals.
Brené Brown (The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are)
IV.The wounded surgeon plies the steelThat questions the distempered part;Beneath the bleeding hands we feelThe sharp compassion of the healer's artResolving the enigma of the fever chart.Our only health is the diseaseIf we obey the dying nurseWhose constant care is not to pleaseBut to remind of our, and Adam's curse,And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.The whole earth is our hospitalEndowed by the ruined millionaire,Wherein, if we do well, we shallDie of the absolute paternal careThat will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.The chill ascends from feet to knees,The fever sings in mental wires.If to be warmed, then I must freezeAnd quake in frigid purgatorial firesOf which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.The dripping blood our only drink,The bloody flesh our only food:In spite of which we like to thinkThat we are sound, substantial flesh and bloodAgain, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.
T.S. Eliot (Four Quartets)
What happened to you—losing your family, twice—that’s not right. I think you need to be here. I think you need to be with me. With …” She reached for his hand and placed it atop her womb, pressing lightly. “Us.” Gabe felt movement beneath his hand and closed his eyes. He felt as if he were standing at the peak of Murphy Mountain and a breath of wind would push him over the cliff. Nic continued. “Like it or not, Callahan, the twins and I are your family now. When you are ready for us, we’ll be waiting.” It was, he thought, the perfect thing to say. This was why he’d confided in her. Why he trusted her. When it came to wounded souls, Nicole Sullivan Callahan had a healer’s touch.
Emily March (Angel's Rest (Eternity Springs, #1))
Simone Simmons Simone Simmons works as an energy healer, helping her patients through empowering them rather than creating a dependency on the healer. She specializes in absent healing, mainly with sufferers of cancer and AIDS. She met Diana four years before her death when the Princess came to her for healing, and they became close friends. In 2005, Simone wrote a book titled Diana: The Last Word. The most important thing I did with Diana over the four years I knew her well, when we met almost every day and spent hours on the telephone, was to teach her how to heal. This enabled her to bring real comfort to the many hundreds and thousands of seriously ill people she met. Nothing was too lowly or demanding for her to tackle. She embraced people suffering from leprosy and AIDS. She cuddled the wounded and the sick. Diana was so committed to her work that she learned to channel her remarkable gift as a healer to aid the afflicted. It was while I was teaching her to meditate that I started to train her to channel her energies toward those she was in contact with. She picked this up very quickly, and once she got the knack of it, she used to practice on her sons, William and Harry, her friends, and the people she met through her charity work. She was a tactile person and told me that when she was a child, she would always snuggle up to whoever was reading her a bedtime story, as she liked the feeling of human contact. On her visits to hospices and hospitals, she would hold the people’s hands and look directly into their eyes so they could feel her love and energy flowing forth. She explained, “Nothing gives me greater joy than trying to help the most vulnerable members of society. It’s my one real goal in life--a destiny.
Larry King (The People's Princess: Cherished Memories of Diana, Princess of Wales, from Those Who Knew Her Best)
You know, Laura, time is a great healer. It softens hearts and makes even the deepest wounds heal.
Chloe Carley (Her Prodigal Cowboy)
You are a good man, Ioan,” she said to him. “By all appearances, a fine and capable leader as well. A queen could do well with a man such as you by her side.” Christian’s ears perked up at her words. Even though his body was throbbing from pain, he didn’t miss the look of heat that came into Ioan’s eyes, or the speculative gleam in Adara’s. It made his vision dim. Ioan gave her a hot, seductive smile. “I appreciate your compliment, Majesty. While we await your quarters being prepared, would you like to have something to eat?” His wife all but preened under the Welshman’s look. “Aye, my lord. We are truly famished and your kindness would be most appreciated.” Christian’s sight dimmed even more as he watched her coy smile. She even batted her eyelashes. This was more than he could stand. “Abbot?” Phantom asked. “Are you all right?” “I am fine,” he said from between clenched teeth. Phantom scoffed. “Whatever you say.” “He looks ill to me,” Lutian said. “Rather green and red. Can’t tell if he’s angry or vomitous.” Christian slanted a look at the fool that had him retreating. Adara felt a modicum of satisfaction at her husband’s ill humor until she saw the reddish stain that was barely discernible through the black cloth of his robe. “You’re bleeding,” she said sternly, moving to stand beside him. Christian tried to brush her off, but she would have none of it. Her anger flared. “Cease with your stubbornness, Christian. Your wounds need to be tended.” He glared at her. She glared back. Ioan whistled low. “Phantom, who is the queen, that Christian would tolerate her thusly?” Phantom folded his arms over his chest as he watched them. “His wife.” “Only until our marriage is annulled,” Christian snapped. Adara put her hands on her hips as she continued to glower at him. “Well, if you stand there until you bleed to death, we won’t need an annulment, now, will we?” Phantom sucked his breath between his teeth. “The queen has gotten a bit snippy, eh?” Christian looked to Ioan. “Have you a healer in your company?” Ioan snorted at that as he looked back and forth from Christian to Adara. “Heed my words well, Abbot, no man who possesses his full sense will ever come between a woman and her husband.” -Adara, Ioan, Phantom, Christian, & Lutian
Kinley MacGregor (Return of the Warrior (Brotherhood of the Sword, #6))
Extra virgin coconut oil is an excellent food source on so many levels. It’s antibacterial, antiviral, known to help weight loss … even a great wound healer and hair treatment! I highly encourage you to look into this amazing food.
Caroline A. Shearer (Raise Your Vibration: Tips and Tools for a High-Frequency Life (Raise Your Vibration min-e-book™ series, #1))
Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others.
Brené Brown (The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are)
Turn on your heart light," who is going to magically heal us all. The only one who can turn on your heart light is you. The only one who can give your inner children healthy parenting is you. The only healer who can heal you is within you.
Robert Burney (Codependence: The Dance of Wounded Souls)
When we wonder why the language of tradition Christianity has lost its liberation power for nuclear man, we have to realize that most Christian preaching is still based on the presupposition that man sees himself as meaningfully integrated with a history in which God came to us in the past, is living under us in the present, and will come to liberate us in the future. But when man's historical consciousness is broken, the whole Christian message seems like a lecture about the great pioneers to a boy on an acid trip.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
What is time, but a thief of life, a healer of wounds, a bank of goodbyes?
Jenim Dibie
Mysticism and revolution are two aspects of the same attempt to bring about radical change. Mystics cannot prevent themselves from becoming social critics, since in self-reflection they will discover the roots of a sick society. Similarly, revolutionaries cannot avoid facing their own human condition, since in the midst of their struggle for a new world they will find that they are also fighting their own reactionary fears and false ambitions.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
In our travels through the underworld, witches become map makers. Culture, art, the mystery religions, these systems of symbols are maps. Somebody has to create them. Our musicians and healers, poets and witches, travel through the corridors of the underworld by torchlight. We were not wrong to descend into these caves, but for our own sakes, for the peace of mind of those we love and for the sake of the planet, we who travel there must not get lost. We can join our lights together and return to the world. We can use our symbols, our stories, our mystical methodologies to forge connections with each other in these underground spaces. Symbols and stories order our world; they create the narratives by which we live. It matters whose stories get told; it matters how we tell them. Imagination matters. Our connections to one another matter, as does the pleasure we take in our experience. Witches stand in solidarity with those already doing this work. Because people have been doing this work since humans first appeared on the surface of the earth. Now we listen to them, we participate, we use techniques of the healer, the poet, the artist, the scholar, the cunning folk, the green men, and the medicine women to heal ourselves and care for our wounded world.
Amanda Yates Garcia (Initiated: Memoir of a Witch)
If I were you, I would not bring up the fact that you forced me to take that spell-casting healer’s blood.” She twisted away from him, annoyed all over again. “How could you betray me that way?” With great male superiority he glanced down at her face. “Your health comes before your pride.” The truth was, he was ashamed he had forced such a choice on her, yet he was grateful it was over and she was not nearly as weak as she had been. “Says you. I hope he bled a long time before he closed that wound. And don’t talk to me anymore, because you’re being arrogant, and I can’t stand you when you’re arrogant.” She stumbled, her legs already tired. “If you had done as I said, you would be at full strength, your body healed from its ordeal,” he pointed out, smug male amusement deliberately in his mind to tease her. She stopped walking so abruptly, his arm jerked her forward. “Do you have any idea where we’re going? I’m lost out here. Everything is beginning to look the same to me. And stop with that cute little grin you always get in your mind. You think you can get around me with it, but you can’t.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
Listen to me, Shea. We will have to do this together. Raven has shut down her body as much as she dared. Mikhail is keeping her and the child alive, but she is very weak, and the child is in trouble. You have to repair the damage done to Raven, and I will save the child.” Shea was shocked. “She’s still alive?” She attempted to back away from Gregori. “I only know human medicine. I have no knowledge of how you do what you do. I might kill her.” “It is in you. Healers are born, not taught. You can do this. I will instruct you as we go. We have no time to argue, Shea. I cannot do this alone. Mikhail says Raven will lose the child in another few minutes. She has to allow her heart and lungs to continue, but her blood will pump out. And life will cease for all of them. Raven, the child, and Mikhail--we will lose all of them,” he reinforced. His eyes challenged her. “Do you do this with me?” Shea was trembling, but her chin went up. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Gregori nodded approvingly. “You have to block out everything you are. Everything. You are light and energy, noting more. Once you see yourself as light, you can enter the body and find the worst wounds. Heal from the inside out. The most iporatnt thing will be to first stop all bleeding, then repair damage to vital organs. It is very difficult, and you are weak. You will need to feed at some point. Jacques will return to supply you when he is done with his work. You cannot fail us, Shea. I know you can do this. If you need my help, I will be in your mind.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
We go together. Keep your attention on Raven and her wounds. You cannot think of yourself or what could happen. Believe in yourself. If you begin to falter, reach out to me.” Gregori’s powerful light seemed to bathe her soul with trust and warmth. She found only the healer in him. All else was pushed aside. There was so much selflessness, so much purity of soul, Shea could only marvel. She followed his lead without reservation. He was the very epitome of what she had always striven to be. A true healer, with a gift so rare and precious, she felt humbled in his presence. Later she could remember that Gregori was a powerful ancient, that he could make anyone believe and see anything he wanted.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
Gregori was an impressive figure. Shea watched him as he knelt beside Raven, his entire attention seemed to be concentrated on the woman lying so still. “Have you attended to Shea’s injuries?” The soft inquiry startled Shea. He addressed Jacques, asking the male, as was his irritating way. “The wounds are closing,” Jacques assured him. Rand drew Shea alone into the woods. He is the betrayer, healer. I walked away from him because he is linked to Shea. He could make her feel whatever I did to him. He is very dangerous. I cannot be the ne to bring him to justice. Shea would never forgive me. “Don’t do that, Jacques,” Shea said with a little bite in her voice. She was exasperated with him. “I know you’re talking to Gregori. If you have something to say, say it out loud so that I can hear you. You think Rand is the vampire, don’t you?” The thought was in her mind also, and it made her feel disloyal. She knew something was wrong with Rand; perhaps Maggie’s death had twisted his mind so he was living in the past. But something rand had said in the course of their strange conversation was niggling at her brain. Something she couldn’t put a finger on. Gregori passed a hand over Raven’s stomach, his fingers splayed wide. His touch lingered for a moment, a surprisingly tender gesture, then he turned to Shea. “Jacques knows his duty to you, Shea. This man, Rand, the one who is your birth father, was never in your life. Hold on to what is real, not to your childhood fantasies.” “You don’t know the first thing about my childhood, fantasy or not,” Shea snapped, goaded beyond endurance by his unruffled, superior attitude. Gregori definitely grated on her. She suspected it was because he was always using logic. She was the one who was supposed to do that. “I have my own mind, Gregori, and it is a perfectly good one. Perhaps the first couple of times we met gave you a false impression. I am not a hysterical woman who runs at the first sign of danger. I don’t faint at the sight of blood, and I can make my own decisions.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
Gregori was an impressive figure. Shea watched him as he knelt beside Raven, his entire attention seemed to be concentrated on the woman lying so still. “Have you attended to Shea’s injuries?” The soft inquiry startled Shea. He addressed Jacques, asking the male, as was his irritating way. “The wounds are closing,” Jacques assured him. Rand drew Shea alone into the woods. He is the betrayer, healer. I walked away from him because he is linked to Shea. He could make her feel whatever I did to him. He is very dangerous. I cannot be the ne to bring him to justice. Shea would never forgive me. “Don’t do that, Jacques,” Shea said with a little bite in her voice. She was exasperated with him. “I know you’re talking to Gregori. If you have something to say, say it out loud so that I can hear you.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
Healer, hear me. I have need of blood, and this one before me, Julian, the golden twin, has said you will vouch for him. No one can voice for one such as Julian. He is a loner, a law unto himself, but his blood is untainted. If Julian turns, it will be Aidan or I who hunts him, no others. Avail yourself of what he offers. “Did he give me a good recommendation?” Julian’s smile was frankly sardonic. “The healer never gives good recommendation. You are not his favorite, but he agrees there would be no harm.” Julian laughed softly, put his wrist to his mouth and bit, then casually reached out to offer his life-giving fluid to Jacques. “I am too much like him, a loner, one who studies too much. I dabble in things better left alone. I fear Gregori has given up on me.” He didn’t sound worried about it. Jacques nearly staggered as he moved to take the proffered wrist. His mouth clamped tightly over the ragged wound. The blood flowed into Jacques’ withered, shrunken cells. The surge of strength and power was incredible. He had not realized how depleted his system was until the nourishment flowed into his body. It was an effort not to be greedy, to feast at the rich supply. “Do not worry, I have no duties to perform this night. Take what you need, and I will hunt in town before moving on.” Julian made the offer casually. Jacques forced himself away from the flowing supply. He closed the wound carefully and looked up at the handsome, weathered face. There was intelligence there, coolness, self-possession, and something else. Jacques could read the dangerous stillness in him. Julian was a man always ready for the unexpected.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
My wounds became my spectacles, helping me to see what I encounter with empathy, and with a grateful sense of privilege.
Martin R. Lipp (The Bitter Pill: Doctors, Patients, and Failed Expectations)
Jacques was up, leaning against the wall. He wore a pair of soft cotton jeans and nothing else. He looked gray, gaunt, lines of strain carved deeply into his handsome face. The wound below his heart was trickling a steady stream of blood. His feet were bare, his thick mane of hair wild and tangled. A fine sheen of perspiration coated his body. There was a crimson smear on his forehead, and heads of scarlet dotted his skin. “Oh, God!” Shea’s heart nearly stopped. She could taste fear in her suddenly dry mouth. “Jacques, what have you done? What were you thinking?” She nearly leapt the distance separating them, not noticing how fast she was able to move. She could feel tears burning in her throat, behind her eyes. What Jacques was doing to himself was making her physically ill. “Why would you do this?” Her hands were gentle, tender, as she examined his gaping wound. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Een as she caught him to her, the silliest thought ran through her head. Where had he gotten a pair of jeans that fit him? But it hardly mattered at that moment. He will come this night, and I must protect you. “Not like this you won’t. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a huge hole in your body. You’re putting far too much stress on those sutures. We have to lay you down.” He is coming. “I don’t care, Jacques. We can leave this place, travel all night if we have to. We have guns. Maybe we can’t kill him, but we can slow him down.” The truth was, Shea wasn’t altogether certain she could shoot anyone. She was a doctor, a surgeon, a healer. The thought of taking a life was abhorrent to her. She wanted to patch Jacques up fast and get out of there. Avoiding trouble seemed easier than facing it. He read her mind, her reluctance, easily. Do not worry, Shea. I am quite capable of killing him. He swayed against her, nearly toppling both of them to the floor. “I’m not sure I consider that great news,” she said between clenched teeth. Somehow they made it the few steps to the bed. “And if you could see yourself right now, you might not be so certain you could swat a fly.
Christine Feehan (Dark Desire (Dark, #2))
Nuclear man is a man who has lost naïve faith in the possibilities of technology and is painfully aware that the same powers that enable man to create new life styles carry the potential for self-destruction.
Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society)
Healing the world begins with healing yourself.
Anthon St. Maarten
pity parties never result in authentic benefit or blessing; they just enlarge, deepen, and intensify the wound by repeatedly exposing it. At the very least, these kinds of discussions with others will keep you focused on your hurts instead of focused on your Healer.
Anne Graham Lotz (Wounded by God's People: Discovering How God's Love Heals Our Hearts)
I began to wonder about my own church, which has its godly share of hospitable, big-hearted people. But Presbyterian worship, even in small towns such as mine, presumes a high degree of literacy; each Sunday’s bulletin contains new and often lengthy prayers to be read aloud. I wondered if many of these people would feel welcome there, as reading is such a struggle for them. And as I looked around that room I kept thinking: Kathleen, these are the people Jesus says will be first in the kingdom. And I had a kind of vision of all of us coming together, bearing our different wounds, offering differing gifts. The preachers, prophets, healers, and discerners of spirits. Those who can describe the faith and those who can only live it. Those who speak in tongues, and those who interpret. Those who write, and those who sing. Those who have knowledge, and those who are wise only in the sight of God. Each of us poor and in need of love, yet rich in spirit. Each of us speaking in the language we know, and being understood. Pentecost, indeed.
Kathleen Norris (Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith)
People say time is a healer. But it’s a lie. Time doesn’t heal, it just masks. Sure, there are days when the pain is less, when it seems that things aren’t so bad, but scratch underneath the surface and the grief is still there. Raw and real. It isn’t a wound to fix. A hole to fill.
L.A. Cotton (Wicked Beginnings (Wicked Bay, #1))
The restorative touch of our wounded healer, Jesus, highlights our brokenness, letting others know we’re distinctly God’s. — Scoti Springfield Domeij —
Gary Chapman (Love is a Verb Devotional: 365 Daily Inspirations to Bring Love Alive)
Apathy is the bushel basket under which the ego hides its fear of being powerless. It is easier to become apathetic when there are no words or actions sufficient to comfort a wounded body, a grieving heart, or a shattered community. And so we look away and avoid awkward conversations under the guise that we don’t want to upset others. Yet, the most powerful posture for a healer to take is that of the witness. To stand and witness a person or community devastated by suffering, and to let them know that while they suffer they have a hand to hold, offers the most potent medicine of all—compassion.
Darren Main (The River of Wisdom: Reflections on Yoga, Meditation, and Mindful Living)
You’ve been punished.” Simus’s dark eyes twinkled as he changed the subject. “Speaking of that, have you started to work on the song?” Joden nodded. “Tell us the chorus at least, Joden.” Simus gestured with a hand, almost spilling my kavage. “Are we to wait until you perform it to hear it?” “No.” Joden chewed on a chicken leg. “Yes.” “No fair.” Simus turned to Keir. “You’re the Warlord. Order him to give us a hint.” Keir snorted. “Order a singer?” Simus leaned toward me, a wicked gleam in those dark eyes. “You’re the Warprize. You could…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If she does,” Joden spoke calmly, “the verses will talk about a certain wounded warrior who got fat and lazy as he healed.” Simus looked down at his third plate-full. “I need food to mend. Isn’t that right, little healer?” I looked at him, keeping my face serious. “Simus, the entire army could heal on what you eat.” Keir and Joden roared. Simus tried not to laugh as he objected to my statement.
Elizabeth Vaughan (Warprize (Chronicles of the Warlands, #1))
Henri J.M. Nouwen wrote about 'wounded healers.' I've come to see that there's no other kind. We are all wounded, and we are all called to take part in what God is doing to bring healing to those around us.
Mary Lou Redding (Healing from Divorce: 28 Days of Prayer)
By the time he spotted the City of Naru from afar, moonlight sent long, wiry shadows across the hillside leading up to the towering stone walls. He told himself he could do it. No matter how hard it was to continue carrying her, he was determined to bring her home alive.  Lights flickered from countless braziers mounted hundreds of feet high on the upper part of the city. Naru stood ominous under the garish light of the four moon sisters and as the evening gong sounded from atop a watchtower, Talis knew he had made it.  He stumbled toward the main gates, barely able to stand. A group of soldiers making their rounds noticed and ran over to help.  “Young Master Talis, what’s wrong?” said Baratis, the captain of the guard. His eyes blazed in fear at the sight of Mara. “Is she alive?” “I can’t talk now… open the gates… she’s hurt!”  “Carem and Jorem! Help them,” Baratis shouted. “You! Ride and fetch a healer. Have them run straightaway to House Lei. Now go!” Two soldiers lifted Mara from Talis' arms and carried her while another raced inside the city. Massive steel shafts stared down at them from inside the stone walls as they jogged past. If they weren’t quick about it, she would die. Ahead, Talis could see a soldier speed off on horseback. He prayed that the healer would arrive in time. He ran ahead, urging them to run faster.    Past the gate was the Arena of the Sej Elders, formed of gigantic white granite blocks, rising over everything in the lower part of the city. Stone towers lined the wide avenue leading up to the arena. They had to move faster. The soldiers’ boots clapped against the cobblestone streets as they marched past the arena, finally winding up and around until they reached the gates of the upper city. Up the snaking rise, they charged past merchant shops and eyes that gawked at the soldiers carrying Mara. They continued on to the highest part of the city, beneath the Temple of the Goddess Nestria, the Goddess of the Sky. To Mara’s house, the House of Viceroy Lei and Lady Malvia, daughter of the king and second in line to the throne.  They were going to be furious; Talis knew he was in serious trouble for taking Mara out on the hunt. But he couldn’t think of that, all that mattered was Mara’s life. As the soldiers carried her into the white marble mansion, Talis worried her wounds were too grave to cure. Today was the worst day and he was all to blame. Why did he have to chase after the boar? Two servants ran up and gasped when they noticed Mara and they quickly helped her inside.  Lady Malvia rushed to them, her silver robe swirling.
John Forrester (Fire Mage (Blacklight Chronicles, #1))
The Wounded Healer deduz que graça e cura são transmitidas por meio da vulnerabilidade de homens e mulheres que foram maltratados e desprezados pela vida. Apenas soldados feridos podem servir ao Amor.
Brennan Manning (O impostor que vive em mim)
protests. A wound like that was incredibly dangerous. If he didn’t get her to a healer soon, he knew Mara would die. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. After a long while, he was too tired to carry her, so he rested for a bit, his breath heaving and stiff arms and legs protesting. Even though it was almost dark, Talis could see that Mara’s face looked white as chalk. He had to keep going, no matter what, no matter how much his legs and back burned from carrying her. By the time he spotted the City of Naru from afar, moonlight sent long, wiry shadows across the hillside leading up to the towering stone walls. He told himself he could do it. No matter how hard it was to continue carrying her, he was determined to bring her home alive. Lights flickered from countless braziers mounted hundreds of feet high on the upper part of the city. Naru stood ominous under the garish light of the four moon sisters and as the evening gong sounded from atop a watchtower, Talis knew he had made it. He stumbled toward the main gates, barely able to stand. A group of soldiers making their rounds noticed and ran over to help. “Young Master Talis, what’s wrong?” said Baratis, the captain of the guard. His eyes blazed in fear at the sight of Mara. “Is she alive?” “I can’t talk now… open the gates… she’s hurt!” “Carem and Jorem! Help them,” Baratis shouted. “You! Ride and fetch a healer. Have them run straightaway to House Lei. Now go!” Two soldiers lifted Mara from Talis' arms and carried her while another raced atop a horse into the city. Massive steel shafts stared down at them from inside the stone walls as they jogged past. If they weren’t quick about it, she would die. Ahead, Talis could see a soldier speed off on horseback. He prayed that the healer would arrive in time. He ran ahead, urging them to run faster. Past the gate was the Arena of the Sej Elders, formed of gigantic white granite blocks, rising over everything in the lower part of the city. Stone towers lined the wide avenue leading up to the arena. They had to move faster. The soldiers’ boots clapped against the cobblestone streets as they marched past the arena, finally winding up and around until they reached the gates of the upper city. Up the snaking rise, they charged past merchant shops and eyes that gawked at the soldiers carrying Mara. They continued on to the highest part of the city, beneath the Temple of the Goddess Nestria, the Goddess of the Sky. To Mara’s house, the House of Viceroy Lei and Lady Malvia, daughter of the king and second in line to the throne. They were going to be furious; Talis knew he was in serious trouble for going with Mara out on the hunt. But he couldn’t think of that, all that mattered was Mara’s life. As the soldiers carried her into the white marble mansion, Talis worried her wounds were too grave to cure. Today was the worst day and he blamed himself. Why hadn’t he stopped Mara from going after the boar? He could have scared it off. She would have been angry at him, but at least she wouldn’t be injured. Two servants ran up and gasped when they noticed Mara. They quickly helped her inside, shouting for help.
John Forrester (Fire Mage (Blacklight Chronicles, #1))
In tribal cultures, shamans or healers often experience an illness that gives them the insight they need to heal themselves and then bring wisdom to their people. We are still operating with the archetype of the wounded healer who has learned to cure himself and find the gold in his experience.
Robert A. Johnson