Scars

This was a good hair day.

The kind of day that makes it easy to see what is beautiful. I'd french braided my hair the day before and when I took the braid out this is what I got. No frizz. No fro. No wildness. It was perfect. I didn't think about the scar on the bridge of my nose when I looked in the mirror this day. All I saw was the way my hair looked and I liked it. A lot. It's amazing how focusing on what's good takes the sting out of the attention we normally give to what we see as flawed.

I am thankful for that scar. It marks where I had skin cancer growing. After the surgery to remove the disease, before it was a scar, it was an open, deep, ugly wound that made me feel like cyclops. It took time for the scab to form, freeing me from having to clean and treat the area and apply a new dressing twice a day. It is fading, gradually, but it is a scar I can't hide. I've learned to accept it, along with that huge mole, as part of the landscape of my face. Now I embrace the scar as proof of a battle won, a sign that healing, even of deep wounds, is possible. 

I have scars from a variety of other surgeries. Carpal tunnel, ulnar nerve, emergency C Section, abdominal hernia repair(s), gallbladder removed, meniscus repair, partial hysterectomy, rectal prolapse. 

I have scars from childhood accidents, like the time my brother threw a screwdriver at me while I ran upstairs and it stuck in the back of my leg.

Some of these scars are never seen, but they are just as real as the ones that are readily visible.

And then there are the scars no one ever sees. 
Not even me.

Because they are invisible scars.

Broken dreams.

Broken heart.

This song has been the first one to play the last few times I've driven my car. It's reminded me that I am thankful for my scars. Every single one of them. Why? Because each one is proof of a wound inflicted, intentionally or accidentally, for various purposes. Wounds I've survived. Wounds that have healed. And the scars I bear, hidden, inside? They've play a big role in the formation of my character. 

Without them I wouldn't be me.

I'm even more thankful for Jesus' scars because without them I wouldn't be in a right relationship with God. Without them, I wouldn't be the healed, whole me I am today.

I'm convinced, without a doubt, that scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They are beautiful testaments to battles fought and survived.  When we aren't afraid to admit we have them, God can use our scars to encourage others because scars are evidence that even our deepest wounds can be healed.