The "Value" of Scars... ?

A little over a week ago my husband and I were visiting our son and daughter-in-law in Spring. If you know a bit about East Texas, you'll be familiar with the huge conifers that grace the landscape there. You might also know something about the harsh and often sudden weather changes that come along with living near a coastal area.

During a previous visit, my son pointed out a couple of trees on their block that had been hit by lightning in one of the more violent storms. What I hadn't noticed before was that one tree in particular bore interesting witness to the account. A spiral scar wound its way around a large portion of the length of the trunk. It was as if some giant bullwhip had been cast at it and had snaked its way upward toward the heavens.

I was amazed. The tree was still standing... still breathing life. It had been wounded. It had been changed, yes, but it had survived.

Back to the tree in a moment.

Speaking of scars, I have a couple too. Mine aren't of any real consequence. I have one on my face, on my temple actually, from a car accident my freshman year of college. My head went through a side window and a piece of glass caught it on the way back. I also have a scar from a C-section when my precious daughter, my little miracle girl, was born. I don't even notice them anymore really... those marks. They're part of me, but they certainly don't define me. Speaking solely for myself, they are but the superficial remnants of moments marked other ways in time and memory.

*Please note: I am in no way trying to equate my experiences with those of individuals who have suffered tremendous physical pain and loss, or with those whose struggle remains raw and real. I can only speak to what I know, to that which I can relate. It is my hope that in a small way these words might simply provide a bit of encouragement to others.

I also have scars that aren't readily visible. Perhaps you can relate. These are marks that run deeper. These scars don't fade as easily over time. I'm not sure they will ever go away completely, but I'm not certain I want them to. These marks, for me, are the ones that tell the story of difficulties, of stresses, strains... losses. They allude to the beginnings of those narratives, but they by no means determine the endings. They are my reminders that God has brought me through troubled waters. I entered one way and emerged another. I am changed, but I am still standing... still breathing life.

We all have scars. Some visible. Some not. I don't believe there is anyone who can live in this fallen world and come through completely unscathed. Perhaps that's not the point. Difficulties are part of life. Fallible people co-existing in a sin-filled world are bound to go through hardship and pain at times. These, though, are not our defining moments. What we allow the scars to give witness to... that is what defines us.

Though we would surely choose to forego it, experiencing personal difficulty or loss also gives us experience in understanding. We gain perspective. We gain a valuable "gift," if you will, of being able to relate, to identify, to sympathize, in a very personal way with another who is going through the same thing. It can be cathartic for both parties, the one sharing and the one receiving. I know firsthand the comfort I felt in hearing another mother's story of her child who, likewise, spent months in the NICU, but was now headed home, healthy, stronger. I remember the understanding looks, the hands that grasped mine knowingly when each of my parents graduated to glory. The words and actions that come from a heart that relates, from a heart that has experienced those same dark places and has come out the other side... they are pure gold.

I don't believe God delights in seeing His children suffer. I believe that sin and its results causes Him infinitely more pain than it does us. But I also know that God can transform our pain, that He can use those difficulties for good. He can take those mangled bits... those frayed edges and bind them together into something beautiful... if we will trust Him to do so. You see, He understands. He is intimately acquainted with scars. He's been there Himself in the throes of rejection, betrayal... even death, but He has also been right there with us in our most difficult moments. Every scar we carry, He carries too.

Allowing oneself to be vulnerable, to share our hurts, can sometimes be hard. I get that. I really do. Wanting to keep our broken hearts and wounded spirits hidden away is a natural response, but it isn't always the most helpful thing to do. Hurts heal best when they are exposed to the light. This has certainly been true in my life. The times I felt closest to others were the times I let my scars show. Sharing grief, sharing difficulties can promote healing. Empathy is an effective balm.

So now, back to that tree.

I'm glad it's still standing. Each day that sees green shoots continue to sprout from her branches gives silent testimony to the strength of the tree's roots and to the resilience of her frame. It shows for all who care - or need to see - that storms can bruise you, but they don't have to break you. This tree perseveres, she prospers, and she attests wonderfully... perhaps even beautifully... to the prospective value of scars.

May mine always do the same.