Mothers often habitually latch onto childhood misadventures and hit the replay button for anyone willing to listen. (I’m shamefully guilty of doing that with my children.) However, no one seemed to enjoy it more than my mother. My mischievous spirit definitely gave her plenty of material for storytelling, enough to make listeners’ eyes glaze over.
Mother loved to use the scars on my body as outlines for her many stories. She would start at the top and explain how I held a BB gun between my knees to cock it. Naturally, it slipped, causing the metal sight on the end of the barrel to hit my eyebrow. I probably wouldn’t have a scar today if I hadn’t hit the same spot a second time. I learned the hard way that you can’t do the same thing the same way twice and expect different results.
My upper lip still has the scar from when my tooth went through it after falling off my daddy’s pickup truck and hitting the corner of the driveway. Then one afternoon, I knocked a drinking glass off the arm of the sofa and fell on the broken glass. That earned me lots of stitches and a long scar on my stomach!
The faint scar on the back of my right hand is from skedaddling too fast on my bicycle down a chert road. I slipped and skidded sideways on my hand across the crushed rocks. Then, while running through my grandparents’ house, I fell on the grate of their floor furnace. Thankfully, it was summertime. But I now have a checkered past (uh, knee). 🙂
My most obvious and lasting physical scar came with the March wind when I was three. I had been playing on the porch and decided to go back inside. My little dog was playing with me, so I rested my hand on the door frame and motioned for her to follow me. Beware the Ides of March! A gust of wind caught the open door and slammed it on my tiny finger. The doctors tried to reattach it, but it didn’t work. Now I ask for a 10% discount whenever I get a manicure, but I’ve only gotten it once.
When these kinds of things first happen, tremendous pain is involved. We scream and wail. We rub or shake whatever hurts. We want and need someone to help us get through the pain. After the cleanup, the stitches, the bandage, the medicine, or the surgery, we begin to heal. For healing to be complete, it has to happen from the inside out, and this process takes time. Eventually, only a scar is left to commemorate the unfortunate event.
Physical scars demonstrate survival, healing, perseverance, and triumph over nature! Likewise, our emotional scars can prove that we have survived, healed, persevered, and won over evil. Giant dots marking our victory can then be painted on our life’s timeline, allowing us to see them whenever we are tempted to doubt God’s loving hand. Sharing the stories behind our scars can often start or encourage the healing process in someone else.
If your wound still hurts, it’s not yet a scar. Be patient. If you need any kind of healing, go to the One who has scars in His hands and feet. He understands how you feel. Jesus is more than willing and able to heal you from the inside out. It takes time, but He always makes the time.
If you have been healed, thank the One who proved that, “the Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world.” (1 John 4:4 NLT) Like my mother, when you’re ready, hit the replay button for anyone willing to listen!
