My legs tell an interesting story of this summer.
First of all, they tell the story of the first day I wore my favorite new shoes. (I know, the shoe thing again.) On that day, I walked across the street from my office building to get lunch. On the way back, I picked up a couple of chiggers (aka “red bugs”) while cutting through a landscaped area of our parking lot. They’ve marked my legs with red scars the entire summer. I figure the cute shoes distract from the chigger damage.
My legs also tell the story of a one-day beach trip with two of my children. It was a perfect day, really. Except for my sunblock application. That wasn’t so perfect. And I have three very odd areas of tan (previously sunburn) on both legs. I laugh every time I see it. Eventually, this one will fade into even whiteness.
An inch-and-a-half “strawberry” under my left knee tells the latest leg scar story. This one will leave a scar for a long time – maybe forever. On the night before my week-long vacation, I woke up disoriented by the alarm on my dryer, stuck in a loud, consistent buzz. In my haste to turn the buzzer off, and forgetting that an open, fully packed suitcase was beside my bed, I tripped and took quite a fall. Based on my injuries, it was spectacular. No one saw it, not even me. It was dark and I was practically asleep. I asked my son, who was sleeping downstairs, if he remembered hearing all the commotion. He didn’t, and I was relieved. I don’t want him to learn those words from me.
I have several other scars that remind me of past injuries. Most of us do. Sometimes, a scar can remind me of more – like the dinner I was cooking, or the special occasion when I burned the back of my hand – but, most often, I don’t remember anything beyond the actual injury.
What a waste of a good scar!
Our scars represent a lot more than skin damage. Sometimes, they tell of an amazing slide into home base that helped your team win a big game. Or, a scar might be all that remains of a health scare that resolved as a complete healing. Sometimes, scars remind us of lessons learned.
Sometimes, like the risen Jesus, our scars help identify us – not based on the injuries they represent, but based on the story of healing they tell.
Do you have a scar story you’d be willing to share? A scar that is particularly important to you? I’d love to hear what your scars say about you.
Finding a new "normal" 
I think the scars of divorce, betrayal, loves lost do tell a story. Rather than I.D. us, they identify and testify to the redemptive power of the Lord, Jesus Christ. Perhaps, there might have been another way that i would have found the Lord. Perhaps, there could have been another way that He would have drawn me to Himself. But, that being said, He chose to search me out and out of that labyrinth of miry clay that had sucked me in after that horrible time that left me broken, angry, confused, guilty and vulnerable.
So from the scar tissue of rent lives emerged the butterfly of a transformed life. Thank You Lord for a compassion that passes all understanding.
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I have 2 notable scars. the first one being a scar on my face from being bitten by a dog when I was 2 (including the scar on my neck from the other side of the bite. The other is from the most amazing day of my life when my sweet boy was delivered via c section š
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Sandy, I have many scars, both physical and emotional – but one story tops them all. When I was 15,16,17 & 18 I worked at a camp in the mountains in the summer. One day my friend was going to drive the 2 of us from the staff cabin up the mountain to the dining hall area. Unfortunately, another girl’s car was blocking hers. When we asked her to move her car, she reported that her boyfriend had her keys, so she couldn’t. (As this was in the pre-historic days before cell phones, we could not call him.) As the car was parked on a slight incline, she told us to release the parking brake, put the car in neutral, and roll it out of the way. Both my friend and I tried numerous times to release the parking brake, while sitting in the driver’s seat, but it would not budge. Thinking it was stuck, and getting more and more frustrated, my friend and I stood beside the car discussing what to do. Angry and determined, I leaned into the car and gave the parking brake one last yank. This time, however, the brake released! The car began to roll straight back toward a 4 or 5 foot drop off. Unable to get into the driver’s seat, I dove into the car, pushing the brake as hard as I could with my hands. Meanwhile, the car was dragging me across a gravel road for about 20 feet. Miraculously, I managed to stop the car – BEFORE it went over the drop off. When my friend reset the parking brake, I stood up to see a very bloody shin, and gravel embedded into both my shin and my knee. I still bear several scars from that day. Needless to say, I never tried to roll a car out of the way again!
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Intense, Karen! Great story. Thanks, MG and Nancy, for sharing. It is amazing how full of life and emotion our scars can be!
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