Uncurable Wounds

Sometimes my wounds are dormant. Sometimes they rear their ugly heads. Some of my wounds are minor and some quite rotten. When they're active, eruptive like a seething volcano, I battle them with blood, sweat, and lots of tears of frustration because they never fully go away. I cry out that I can't cure them! Why, oh WHY does the Divine not help me finally cure these old sources of soul torture?

And then a thought comes-- a whisper of an answer: Perhaps these ugly wounds are not meant to be cured.

If these wounds are kept alive, I am rendered humble. I must face that I am utterly human, flawed, no better than anyone else.