Every Scar Tells a Story

Every scar tells a story.

I'm sure you have a story to tell about each of your scars, whether big or small.  They're etched forever on your body like an ugly tattoo you wish you had never gotten. I have a few. Like the time I learned how to ride a bicycle. I was almost a teenager, and the bike fell against my leg, the pedal scraping my skin every other inch, from the knee on my left foot to the bottom of my ankle, until the bike hit the ground. Although faint, those scars aren't going anywhere, a constant reminder of that day many, many years ago.

One of my most recent scars, on my right knee, happened just this past summer. I was in Connecticut visiting my mom, and I was running to snap a cute photo of Buddy Roller when I slipped and fell flat on my rump. It happened so fast, I started laughing at myself, and then the pain came. Ouch! I hadn't had a fall like that in a loooooong time. That fall also left a scar but it's been fading over time, and I suspect I won't see it for much longer.

But then there are those scars that may never go away.  They are in places you can't hide or easily cover. They are just there, whether you like them or not, to always remind you of something...a lesson, a tragedy, or something else...

I have a student who has one of those scars. It's on her face, along her left cheek and close to her eye.  She is one of the sweetest students I have ever had. She always tries to help me in class, and she is very diligent and smart.  Some days she tries to cover her scar with her hair. But it's not possible. I am curious about how she got it, but so far I'm afraid to ask. Some things you just don't ask for fear of hurting someone or reminding them of something they would rather forget.

But then again, there are some people who just can't help themselves. They ask the questions that you are thinking but will never have the courage to say out loud.  They go there and ask those kinds of questions. I know because I've been witness to it many times.  The Hubs has something on his arm, we'll call it a blessing scar, and it's hard to miss. It takes up the length of his left arm and it has drawn quite the number of stares and even some double-takes over the years. And inevitably, some curious stranger will ask, "What happened to your arm!" In the beginning I could tell The Hubs was really uncomfortable with answering this question.  So much so that he invested in a couple of arm sleeves.  Over time though, I think he got used to the inquiry, and sometimes if he felt like it, he would answer. Other times, he would be pretty vague about his response.  These days, there's no need to cover up his arm.

The truth is, his scar is most definitely a reminder of a blessing, and an answer to many years of prayers.  After enduring several years on dialysis and then receiving a kidney transplant, the scar on his arm is a reminder that there is hope and a very bright light at the end of that sometimes dark, dark tunnel.

Every scar tells a story.

What story does your scar tell?