scars

When I was eight years old, I was waiting for my mother to pick me up from the Ward Parkway Swimming Pool. By the way, that pool was torn down years ago and an office building went up in its place. Anyway, I was waiting for my mom and I was swinging my swim mask around on my finger. Unfortunately, the metal bolt on the top of the mask scraped my knee, and my knee busted wide open. I sliced it about two inches long and ½ inch deep. I knew I was going to need stitches, but my dad insisted that it would heal up fine on it’s own.

My dad was raised during the depression. Personally, I would have driven my kid in for stitches, but he did not, and I watched this gaping wound for a month. But eventually, he was right. It did heal. However, if I show you the inside of my right knee today, you will surely see the scar that is left behind. Wounds heal, scars remain.

I recently read a book by a survivor of Pearl Harbor.  One of his statements that stuck with me was this:  "I have other wounds, ones that cant be covered up with slacks and long sleeved shirts. Scars on a part of me no one can see."

We are all broken. We all have pains. It’s ok to have them, and it is ok to admit that we have them. Anyone who pretends that they do not have problems….. well…. I know better, and so do you.  I prefer to run with real, broken people.

It’s a beautiful , scar filled day in God’s world, be sure to see the good.