scars

Scars.

They're with you forever, like it or not.

They grow with you, change with you, lighten and fade over the years.

Most of you don't know that I am a woman of many scars.

Scars of all shapes and sizes and all for very different reasons.

Some are due to my inevitable clumsiness, others resulting from my need to keep up with the boys as a little girl.

Some came later in life like the ones on my arms from learning to cook, or the ones on my legs from growing so quickly in my middle school years.

Some scars I wish weren't there, like the one on my forearm that an old friend and I did with a lighter. It was supposed to be a smiley face, but it just looks like a lighter burn. Why I thought that would be a good idea, I don't know.

One scar totally changed me.

A care-free little girl who never thought twice about what I looked like, what I wore, or what people thought of me.

It changed me into an insecure, awkward and uncomfortable person.

This scar was the result of a car accident just months after my 7th birthday.

This car accident involved my two sisters, Heather and Abby, who rode up front, and me, who sat in the middle bucket seat of our Astro van. We were leaving our home in the country, where houses are miles apart, into Newton to go see a movie. Weekend at Bernie's if I remember right. We hit a pot hole, veered off the rode, and struck a tree. Heather broke he ankle and had damage done to the left side of her face by her eye. Abby was virtually unscathed, just a little shaken. I remember sitting in my seat, looking myself over, and after only seeing a little blood running down my leg, thinking I was ok. Little did I know I had the most severe injury. When we hit the tree, my little frame completely left the seat and was kept in the car due to the lap seat belt I (thankfully) had been wearing. I was jolted forward with such force that the unforgiving seat belt put so much pressure on my intestines that they were damaged. I, oddly enough, don't remember exactly what the damage was, but after arriving at the Newton Hospital I was rushed to surgery. They were more concerned, obviously, with fixing the problem than making sure my scar was aesthetically pleasing. I was left with a long worm like scar that went from between my ribs to just above my pelvic bone. 

When I was dismissed, I was horrified at the 43 (I still remember that number) staples that lined my scar and kept me together. My mom told me, due to my young age, my scar would heal and probably wouldn't even be noticeable in a few years.

It did heal, but it never looked better. I endured grade school, middle school and all of high school with that scar. I was horrified to be in a swim suit around anyone lest they see. I never wore the belly baring shirts everyone else sported in my younger years, I never wore the midriff dance outfits the rest of my dance squad wore because I was so ashamed.

When I was 18, I had plastic surgery on that scar to ease its tightness from all the height I had added to my frame since it's existence. I hoped the surgery would ease the appearance of the scar, knowing full well it wouldn't.

I had accepted Christ a month prior to this surgery.  He had already begun to shape and mold my heart in a new way.  I had already begun to feel his touch and healing in all areas of my life including this one. 

I read in his word his thoughts of me:

"How beautiful you are, My Darling! How beautiful! There is no flaw in you" - Song of Solomon 4:7

"You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride, with just one glance of your eyes" - SOS 4:9

and began to not really care about my skin. I didn't care if I was dressed to the nines every time I went somewhere,  if my hair was perfectly quaffed, or what every person in the room was thinking about me.  I knew that the one Person I cared most about didn't think twice about the mark on my stomach. He loved me for me, and one day, someone else would feel that way for me, too.

That "one day" came and I have never thought twice of this scar that has marred my belly for all these years. This scar that has caused me so much trouble.

This scar.

Yes, that one.

That scar now shares its space with many tiny, long other scars that were brought about by the two biggest blessings I have ever received and have made my life so full.

That scar that now rests on the place where people lay their hands to share their affection, rub their good wishes and share in my joy.

Those scars that are an integral part of me and so vividly share my story.

Survivor and Mommy.

They are my badge.

There is no shame in them.