Scars

Some of my very favorite conversations are about scars.  Even the most uptight person will roll up their pant leg or pull up a sleeve to reveal the coolest of scars while retelling the event that led to that particulare injury.  It is very likely they will even embellish the story some.....just to make it more exciting.

This is G's elbow.  I have no idea what exact event led to this scar.......there have been many unfortunate encounters between his elbow and the pavement outside our home.  We have lived in this house for 5 years which means he learned to ride his bike without training wheels, learned to ride a scooter, rollerblades, skateboarding....all out in front of our home.  The finer points of tackling were practiced in our front yard (our grass has scars of its own) and I've never seen a good 'ol fashioned game of Red Rover turn into a Band-Aid fest like it does around here.  This poor elbow has seen its fair share of Neosporin, I promise you.

This is Scot's leg.  It was a "I-don't-want-to-admit-I'm-getting-older" pickup game of basketball that led to that scar.  He crashed right into the post holding the basketball net.  I guarantee you his story would be much more dramatic.  A rebound at the last second with a turnaround layup that let his team to victory and landed him in the ER.  God bless him, I think it was nothing more than him tripping and crashing into the pole.

This is my wrist.  I had a cyst removed when I was in high school because it affected my drill team skills.  I couldn't bend my wrist or even put weight on it so off I went to surgery.  The scar is much more dramatic than it needed to be........not that I'm complaining!  I have another scar under my eyebrow that I got when a good friend nailed me in the head with her racquetball racquet........that was a good story.  Blood everywhere, 3 stitches with a nice black eye.......it was great!!   

Today is Good Friday.  I chose to read the account of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus in all four gospels because they each tell slightly different accounts of that day.  Some of the details are the same.

He was innocent.  He was beaten and mocked.  He wore a crown of thorns.  His mother was there.  He was nailed to the cross.  He died.  He was buried.  He was raised from the dead.

In His complete restoration, the nail scars and the scar in His side were left intact.  In my mind I see my resurrected Savior without the dried blood matting his hair, without the dirt and mud caked on His body, without parts of the whip left in His back.  He was given a new body, but the scars remained.

Why?

There was Thomas who doubted the man before him was Jesus until he saw the nail scarred hands and feet.  There were many others who believed the lie that soldiers had removed Jesus's body from the tomb and there was no resurrection,  until they saw for themselves the undeniable scars.  

Those scars represent redemption.  They represent forgiveness.  They represent the love for mankind that our Heavenly Father and His Son bestow upon us.  

Our scars mean the same thing.  I have had wounds that are more than fleshly wounds.  They are wounds left from hurtful criticism.  Self-inflicted wounds from insecurity and little belief in my self-worth.  Wounds from bad decisions in my past.  Every one of those wounds have left a scar.  Those scars can ridicule and haunt me about my past unless I forbid the enemy to use them that way.

I choose to see my scars as a representation of redemption.  They represent forgiveness.  They represent the love for me that my Heavenly Father and His Son bestow upon me.

I can roll up my sleeves or pull up my pant leg and show the world where I once was wounded but have been healed.  My scars have a really cool story behind them of being saved, forgiven, taught, and loved.  Stories that don't require any embellishing at all, they are perfect stories just as they are.