I saw scars only as bodily imperfections. I'd wish that I could go back and redo things the day that I received any given scar so I could have my body back to what it was like before. What flawed thinking that is! It was with the last scar mentioned above that my thinking changed. My scars, no matter how they appear, are actually beautiful. They show that things were broken, but they are now mended. They show that life has happened. I will embrace my scars. They help tell my story.
On that summer's night in August, we had just come out of the hospital from visiting my Mother-in-law, who had undergone surgery. The layout of this hospital has a large wash (a riverbed that has dried up and occasionally fills up during a monsoon) running between the building and the parking garage. A bridge connects the two. Although this "riverbed" isn't all that wide, the drop from the top of the bridge down is quite a drop. The bridge has a railing, but it isn't solid. I was carrying my sweet little Kara and we were crossing on the sidewalk. My flip-flop caught on the sidewalk and it was one of those slow-motion moments--you know what's going to happen, but can do nothing about it. I took 3 or 4 giant steps. I tried with each step to catch my balance, but I couldn't and still keep a tight hold of my sweet girl. I knew I was going down. I turned my body so that I would fall towards the road as there were no cars coming. Zach was in front of me and could hear me falling but didn't know which way. He turned to make sure I wasn't falling towards the side of the bridge with the huge drop. I landed hard, but didn't break any bones. Kara hit her head a bit, but not too hard. It scared us more than hurt us.
I see that scar and I realize that things could have gone so much worse. I was about 3 months pregnant and I landed on my 1 1/2-year-old. I could have broken my wrist. Something could have happened to the baby. Kara's head injury could have been serious. I kept a good hold on her, but what if I hadn't? What if I had gone toward the edge of the bridge instead of the road? I could keep thinking what-if after what-if. But this is what was. God protected us. I see that scar and I am reminded that my mother-in-law came through a successful surgery. I see the scar and I see God's protection around my family that night. Things could have ended so much differently than they did. I'm thankful that all that happened was that I got a scar on my wrist. It is a reminder of God's sovereignty and His graciousness even in the "small" moments of life.
I look at the scar on my knee and I think of the guy who shot that paintball at me. He is now serving in the Marines. When I see that scar, I pray for him and his wife.
When I catch glimpses of the stretch marks and the other "beauty marks of pregnancy", I remember and pray for the 3 beautiful girls I have been blessed with.
I see the softball scars and I thank God that I have the ability to be physically active--even if I'm not the most coordinated at sports. I think of all the girls on all my teams, and even though I don't remember all of their names, I pray for them.
I pray for the friend whose coffee table I biffed on. We have been separated by many years and I haven't had any contact with her since early early elementary school. I still think about her and have started praying for her when I see the scars under my bottom lip.
All of these scars have background stories. They are all a part of my story and they are reminders of a few moments in my life of what God has done and how He works.
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