Scars

As I was lying in bed last night, thoughts encircling my mind, I let out a silent chuckle as I recalled seeing the face of a toddler in the church nursery this past Sunday.

I was filled with happiness when I saw he and his daddy walking down the hallway, as they had been on my mind for the past few weeks. I hadn’t seen them in church, and when someone is absent I begin to worry and wonder if things are okay.

I wished his dad a Happy Father’s Day and mentioned how I had missed them. I glanced down at this little guy as he was standing tall, eyes as wide as lemons, stretching his neck out and turning his cute little head from side to side. Not realizing what this was all about, I bent down to his level and gave him my undivided attention.

His face was a little battered. Faded bruising around his deep brown eyes. Scars that were healing on his cute little nose and grazing the bottom of his chin. This little guy looked like he had been in a battle, and he wore his battle wounds so proudly that morning.

Apparently he had figured out how to unlatch the tailgate of his daddy’s truck. And as the tailgate slammed open, little Braiden tumbled onto the ground. Knowing better than to ask this question I sputtered it out anyway. “Was it moving?” His dad would never be so careless. He is one of the most loving fathers I have ever met. He’d shield his kids with his life. And being a parent myself, I already know the self-blame that occurs when your child gets hurt.

As a parent, your number one priority is to keep your baby safe. But unfortunately accidents happen.

They happened a lot to this little girl. If something seemed “accident-proof,” yours truly could find a way to prove otherwise. From running full speed into a log splitter that was parked behind a tractor in our driveway, to slicing both of my index fingers as we creatively placed a garden hose at the top of our METAL slide on a hot summer day. I have scalded myself by pouring a pan of boiling hot water down the front of my chest and seared my arm on the muffler of the lawn mower. Drove a 3-wheeler through a barbed wire fence and a dirt bike through our garage door. My name is included in the definitions of accident and injury. When Miss Congeniality made its way to the big screen, my boyfriend at the time laughed because she reminded him of me. And it wasn’t because I resembled the beauty of Sandra Bullock but rather the lack of grace her character displayed throughout the movie. I was born a klutz and I believe I will remain a klutz until my time on earth has passed.

Although self-inflicted wounds may appear to be my specialty, they certainly aren’t my preference.

While I still trip over my own feet and hit my head on an open cupboard door, I walk through my days with caution. However the older I get, the more I have realized that the battle scars from a few stitches and abrasions seem to heal a lot more quickly than the emotional scars that are found on my heart. A dab of Neosporin on a Band Aid speeds up the healing process for a scrape or a cut. There are aerosol spray cans to relieve the pain, and there’s Aloe Vera to cool the burn.

I am learning that my internal scars, the scars that can’t be seen by the naked eye or physically touched by the human hand are gradually being healed by the One who knitted my being. The scars that I’m shameful of are constant reminders to me of the life I once lived. They are healed, yet kept there to remind me of the hurts, the mistakes, and the careless choices I’ve made. Reminders that by the grace of God, prevent me from inflicting them on myself again.

Which is hard for me. Most of my scars are remnants of relationships. Results of wanting to be loved, and to desperately love another, while injuring myself in the process. If God created man to love…how can one stay guarded?

By staying grounded.

By having annual check-ups.

In the moments that my emotions seem to peak…I remember those scars. I remember the pain as they were being carved into my soul. And I retreat. To my safety. I turn back into the arms of my loving, faithful, and protective Parent. Because His greatest priority is to keep me safe.

My scars can strengthen me, or consume me. I choose strength.

Braiden’s dad explained to me that after the trauma sheltered the pain, his wife took him in to clean off his battered face. Prior to nursing the wounds, she asked little Braiden if he’d like to pray for God to take away the pain. And miraculously, as she scrubbed, he didn’t flinch.

After I heard this, I looked back down at “B-Man” who was still standing tall with his chest out, and I said, “You’re a very tough little man!” Once again he swayed his head back and forth, proud as all heck of those wounds.

I still have visible scars from my clumsiness on my chin, arms, fingers, and ankle. I can tell the stories of how each one got there. I can also share every story of my internal scars, too. Although there are plenty I’m not proud of, I am proud to say that the wounds have been kissed and healed by the world’s greatest Physician.