One summer my youngest burned himself with a hot glue gun, and it has left a bumpy, scar that hurts my heart. It reminds me of my child’s intense pain and the fact that I couldn’t protect him from harm. Thankfully, he has embraced it as the mark of an adventure. Besides, he says, “chicks dig scars.”
Clinically speaking, scars are remarkable creatures. They’re the result of our bodies quickly depositing collagen fibers in a wound to prevent further damage and infection. It happens much like a cartoon character haphazardly boarding up windows to keep out bad buys, which is why mended tissue looks and feels rough compared to the surrounding tissue.
We all have scars. Some are visible and may be a result of a dumb choice or a life-saving procedure, while others are internal and more damaging to our souls because in them, we harbor blame, regret, mistrust. In the words of a Toby Mac song, “It doesn’t matter who you are, this world is gonna leave some battle scars.” When we let God heal us, our scars become our testimonies, proof that we are alive and that we are moving forward in our faith journey.
My oldest has a tiny star-shaped scar on his chin, hidden these days behind teenage stubble, where he face planted on pea gravel on a playground. A classmate once asked him about the scar, but he had no recollection of receiving it. His response was, “I don’t know how it got there. It’s just my mark of awesomeness.”
My prayer is that I revere my own scars as my marks of awesomeness where God knit me back together and molded my character more brilliantly to Christ’s.