I’m certainly not a huge fan of smacking myself in the chin so hard that I bust it open and bleed all over the floor, but I did it anyway this weekend.
I was doing some demolition and construction work with Bill (Sir William of Keglers) when a particularly stubborn window I was trying to remove fought back and gave me a violent upper cut to my chin. My first thought was, Shit, I hope nobody saw me do that!
My second thought, after seeing blood splatters (just like a CSI crime scene) on the ground was, Shit, I hope I don’t need stitches. Fortunately, some ice, several paper towels, and a bandage later, I was back at work, thinking, This is going to leave a mark!
“Scars,” says the old cliché, “are but a sign of victory.”
Actually, in my humble experience, they’re a sign of getting smacked around; on the other hand, I’m around to tell the stories.
I was thinking a lot about scars this morning as I was carefully shaving around my latest gash – soon to leave a scar – trying very hard not to slice it open. It’s coincidently right next to a nice scar I received playing football (the real football, not soccer). Other scars on my tired body include the one where a good doctor sewed back one and a half fingers after a table saw accident in college. There is the one on my knee from where they took my joint apart to remove automobile windshield glass after one hell of an accident. And, though I can’t see it, one from where they attempted to fix my lower back. The pain that I'm in almost daily is a reminder that the scar is there AND that the surgery was only an attempt.
I know that my scars are very minor compared to many others – including my daughter’s and Sir Hook's who have each had heart surgery. Still, I can’t help thinking how grateful I am to have been victorious over the trials and tribulations that created my physical scars.
Sure, I could have felt victimized by the linebacker, the driver of the car, the table saw, the window... But I know that I must take responsibility for my own actions – even the really stupid ones that leave scars.
Sir Bowie "Scarred for life" of Greenbriar
Scars aren't always a sign of stupidity, though my body bears some of those, but scars show the fragility of life and a sign that you have been given the opportunity to continue to live it. With my open heart scar and now my back surgery scar exactly across from each other like the North and South Pole of my body, I joke that for Halloween I need to find a sword that I can attach the hilt to my back and the blade coming out of my chest because it looks like I've been run through. The truth is, I have, but I live to tell the tale and share the experience that is the beauty of living and dying in a new state of grace. Perhaps I am too simple for some in my profession of faith in a Savior who bore his scares for me, but I do believe, and now have first hand knowledge, that by your wounds you are healed!
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