“Our scars remind us that the past is real..” – Papa Roach
This is lyric from a song that really speaks to me, in more ways than one.
What of scars anyway?
In order for there to be a scar there must have been a wound first. Over time it begins to heal but eventually leaves a trace behind of what was. Some scars are bigger than others – some more jagged, longer, shorter. Each tells a story – some of bravery, heroism, cancer, addiction, mistakes, blunders, attacks. Some are there because the person just wanted to inflict a greater pain to mask the one they are internally drowning in. Scars. We all have them in varying degrees.
I have 3 on my abdomen from a shooting accident when I was 11 that came within centimeters of taking my life. One on my right thumb where my Dad slammed the car door on my hand when I was trying to get out. And a chicken pox scar under my left eye & on my chest. To name a few.
The internal scars, the ones unseen to the naked eye – those are the worst ones. Scars of feeling rejected & abandoned, rape, molestation, promiscuity, the abyss of shame, verbal & physical abuse, drug abuse. Of feeling bat-sh*t crazy sometimes & believing no one understands. Of unrequited love. Of feeling completely alone in the dark, no matter how much light & people were around me. To name a few.
I look back on my life & all I have endured and it amazes me that I am still here. I am truly a walking miracle. Only God gets the credit for it- He made me, He saved me, He keeps me. Hallelujah. I do not deserve any of it.
Regardless, the salve of His great love for me – the scars He bore for me – they have bound up my wounds. His mercy has drowned my shame. His grace enables me to keep getting up, to have hope even when it runs down to almost zero sometimes. To somehow take the ashes of experience & turn them for good – to lend a shoulder & hand to the lost & dying inside. To help turn scars into badges of beauty, victory, triumph & gratitude.
Scars. I am thankful for all of mine.
Much love & transformation to yours,