Scars … we’ve all got ‘em

Alarms go off. Extra pat downs are required. And TSA agents get to put on those latex gloves and apologize for touching in ways that might have used to end up with a “me too” hashtag. Because of a hip surgery about 15 years ago, I have some metal in parts of my body. And interestingly, while going though TSA for my last flight at the huge Lynchburg airport, I failed the hand drug swab test. Not sure why, but it caused an even more intensive search of my body. I normally just laugh and make a joke about it. TSA agents don’t seem to have a huge sense of humor. (Personal note: I was offered a TSA job, passed the tests and interviews, but God had other plans for me – might’ve been because of my sense of humor).

I am not sure if my sense of humor would have fit. I say this because when the alarms go off and they pat me down, I want to prove I had hip surgery. I kind of go into a Forrest Gump movement. Remember when he was getting the Medal of Honor before the President, he drops his pants to show the scar where he was shot in his bu-ttocks? Hilarious. So I often offer proof to people by putting on my best southern, gumpish drawl and offer to show the scar on my bu-ttocks. It’s a respectable scar, about 12 inches long, shows the staple marks, and clearly distinctive on my left cheek. Lisa doesn’t laugh when I do this. To her delight, no one has asked me to show them my scars yet.

I’ve have other scars too. Today, I will mention the physical ones. Some from sliding into second base playing stick ball. Second base was a brick. Ouch. I had a broken hand from playing soccer. I received this while in 10th grade gym class – also known as nerd Hades – I got kicked in the wrist by a 300 lbs. 10th grader who played the defensive line for varsity football. I think he was the whole line. I have another one, in my bu-ttocks, from when I slid down a piece of plywood to help a scared 4 year old trapped on the board – a hero’s scar. There are a few others from various events. They represent accidents, pains, medical care, and teen stupidity. Sometimes they just came because … well just because stuff happens.

We all have scars. This all came to mind when one of Calvin’s friends (let’s call her TS) posted a FB post that she broke her finger playing flag football. I have to say, that’s a lot cooler sounding than saying she broke it tripping over a cat or having a needlepoint accident.

Sometimes we try to hide scars, have them medically disappear, or ignore them. Sometimes we are proud of them and might even brag a bit. I mean, they do that in movies where tough characters compare scars.

We all have scars … they are part of who we are!

No matter how we handle them, we need to understand they are part of who we are. They represent an event, a struggle, a victory, a suffering, a wound, a _________. Fill in the blank. They are reminders that God heals. They are reminders we have come through a life impacting event. A few years ago, FUGE camps had the theme “that’s gonna leave a mark”. And things do happen that leave a mark.

So for the next couple of days, let’s look at scars. Let’s acknowledge our journey, even the tough moments, and let’s explore the truth that God is bigger than anything that happens, or is happening, to us. And also have gratitude in the truth He is the great healer.

That’s a lot to unpack – but it’s exciting to think about it.

Post script … TS, if the broken finger was from a needlepoint accident, don’t tell me. I want to keep the image in my head of you doing a Superman dive to grab an opponents flag, to catch the game winning pass, or clotheslining an opponent in my head. After all, you are a Spartan