Which scars really tell your story?

Written by: Ms. O

I am getting to the end of my bout with poison ivy…have scratched my way through the days…and nights…knowing what the doctor said….it’s gonna leave scars…but I can’t help myself. It itches, so I scratch….and at the moment….I don’t care about the consequences. They will be added to the numerous scars that I have acquired over the years…and each one tells a story.

Bicycle with basket, Lille

I have this awesome scar across my one finger…jagged…not too pretty at all. It comes from riding a bike that was way too big for me…and I fell….hard. I remember my mom putting band aid after band aid on it…trying to stop the bleeding…but that didn’t happen. I should have learned from that….never “try things” until it’s time…but I didn’t….many times over….I have the scars to prove it.

During many of my cooking ventures…and I do mean ventures….as in venturing into places that I had no clue what I was doing. I have burned and cut myself. Most times it is because I am not paying attention…to what I am supposed to be paying attention to. During one of my harried make-it-quick Christmas cooking times…as I was heating up sugar to molten lava temps…I got ahead of myself…did not pay attention to the dangers of cooking with liquid sugar…as in heated to that level…and it slung…back…on my hand. The problem with sugar is…it sticks…and boy did it ever. I burned my other fingertips as I tried to scrap off the sugar on the back of my hand…and ended up with extra burns. You would think that I would have learned from this…pay better attention to what is in front of you…the task at hand…but I didn’t…still don’t…and my scars show.

When it came time to turn in my “mom card”….along with so many problems I had with my own body…I knew I would have an outward scar…one that would run from hip to hip. What I did not realize is that the scar would run deeper than that…it connected to my heart. Realistically I knew I was not going to have any more children…I was done…and God had blessed with me with two amazing children…more than I could ever have asked for…but as I rubbed my scar…that ran across my body…I touched reality…the cold hard truth…of what my body was incapable of…ever…again. I would recall my “pregnancy memories”….retrace those “reasons” that I have the stretch marks I have….as the new scar overlapped the old…and realized that those scars are my reminders of what I have…and a jab and what is over with. You would think I would learn…from both scars…but I don’t….I just carry the scars.

I have scars on my heart…nothing the naked eye can see…which probably makes it worse. They are well hidden…from plain sight…even from those who know me. Those scars left from unrealized dreams…expectations of myself that were not met…failings that prove to me that I have come a long way…but I still have further to go. Scars that all the oils and makeup will never cover…and I find myself “rubbing them”…trying to find the meaning of it all…so I learn…but sadly…most times…I don’t….I just hide them better than the visible ones.

All scars have a story….none will compare though to this:

“So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.”

John 20:25

We all poke fun at Thomas….call him out on his so called faith…wanting to see and touch…Jesus’ scars…but in all honesty…I have done the same…more times than I would like to admit. The other disciples had seen the Risen Lord…spent time with him…but not so for Thomas….yet. He has a moment of total honesty…and it is recorded for all to see.

Before I try to stand so piously…thinking I am no way near as skeptical as Thomas…I think of how many times I have not called on the name of Christ…when He standing right in front of me….of when I have ignored Him…knowing He stands before me…scarred arms opened wide…for…..me.  Am I any different…or do I wrap it up a little neater than my friend Thomas? I look away from the scars…as if it makes them go away…but they don’t…and I thank God for that.

Yes, all scars tell a story….and His is the one that paid my debt…that called me from a life that had no meaning….into abundance that knows no bounds. His scars are a mark… of His atonement…for my sin.

Lord, let me stand before the throne…and place my hands upon those scars…and remind myself of Your great love, Lord….not in doubt…but with assurance…..that my scars are healed in You.

Amen…and amen. Ms. O