I must have been 6 or 7 years old, then. I thought I saw something in our yard and went straight to see what it was. I bumped face first into the window that was open. I didn’t see it. It hurt, but I was scared to tell my mother. I didn’t want a scolding for being careless. I went upstairs. My eldest brother was watching television. I told him what just happened and he put some medicine on the wound that had now become evident on my face. Back then, I only associated healing with wounds: scrapes on the knees, bruises on the elbows, cuts on your faces. You fell, you injured yourself, you had a wound and the wound needed healing. That was the way healing worked, or at least the way I saw it. But, healing is so much more. I was naïve enough to think that was the only healing there could be in the world, or at least could not understand enough. That could work for your visible wounds. But what about wounds that no one can see? Not even yourself? That kind of healing needs much mo...