Scarred

My Meghan and I have a penchant for scars-which is kind of ironic since both of us bruise as well as scar quite easily. And even though our bodies betray us in bruising and scarring, our hearts are even worse. Loving leaves one much more open to scarring. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

 

 

There's something attractive that comes with a scar. Character is one word to describe it.

A perfect example of the beauty of a scar!

 



So, yes... we think scars are cool. There's a story behind each mark, and intrigue with each perceived flaw. There's a respect commanded by each scar, because scars prove that we have survived something. Sometimes something huge. There are so many things in life that seem insurmountable; that with guts and resolve, and no small help from Heaven, we DO survive, and have the marks to show for it. Those marks are reminders of strength and determination and hope. I have never loved the phrase "You (interject we, I, everyone) can do hard things ", though it's true.  We can. We do. Many times because there is no other choice. I know we can. I wish we didn't have to. But the scars left over from hard things are what contain the *magic* for me. The doing of hard things holds no personal excitement or anticipation, but the acknowledgement of knowing I survived something I didn't think I could is rewarding. And if it was a job I have done well, with my dignity and values intact, the scars of the event -whether physically apparent or hidden internally-are my badges of honor. They are my reminder of my strength and the help I receive from my Maker. They give me pause to reflect, to learn, to regroup, and count my blessings. We're tough, us humans. We do, because there's nothing else to do. So BRING IT!

A day I knew I needed stitches, but had no way to get help at the moment.
This was right on a vein and would not stop bleeding. With no one here to get me help,
I relied on the powers of Heaven to stop the flow and heal my arm until someone could get to me.
This picture is 3 weeks after the wound. This scar reminds me daily of how close Heaven is
and how ready God is to send miracles.

Rib cage trauma. Bad days get better.

At the hospital in October



3 months post-hematoma. I have about 3 more months of healing
to do. It's better, but a constant reminder of the important things in life.

It's a new year. The start of something fresh and full of possibilities.

 

I'm ready. In the past year, I have accumulated more scars than I expected to, but with each one I have learned life lessons. I have strengthened myself, and shown endurance, resolve and resilience I didn't know I could muster. I have been shown tender mercies, one after another, and counted each one-giving thanks to the one who affords them to me. I am proud of my scars. I don't want any more. But I'm determined to wear them with honor and even a little pride in knowing I'll survive, and do it well. And I'll be grateful.