Scars

            It’s hard to say scars are beautiful. We hide our scars. We hide those stories that are deepest, most personal and most painful. They are the ones that define us, but we would rather not admit that, so we simply push them down. Put on a little more coverup and no one will notice, right? Good as new. And no one ever knows the difference.

            I guess you could say this blog is little more than one big parade of my scars. I’ve talked a lot (perhaps too much) about scars from my ex-boyfriend, but I’ve also talked about scars from my family, from the church, from my own beliefs about myself. I’m kind of a mess.

            I think we all are, though. We just don’t all feel the need to put these stories up on the internet for all to see. Stories probably don’t push and prod you until you write them down, dancing in the back of your head, intriguing you, teasing you.

            Oh well. Writer’s burden I guess. I promise I’m not crazy. It just sounds that way sometimes.

            So here they are. My scars. On display for all to see, to read, to digest, to judge. What do you think of me now that you have seen them? That really doesn’t matter, honestly. Because I truly believe I am more beautiful for them. But I’ll admit, it’s still hard to think about sometimes. Still hard to realize that everyone from my coworkers to my professors can learn about them, if they so choose.

            So why do I think it’s worth it? Well, because my scars are dealt with. They are healed. The sign of a forgiven past is the ability to speak of it to anyone. To simply say yes, here it is. Here’s my shitty past, my bad decisions, my lapses in judgment, embarrassing beliefs, shameful moments. Here they are. But guess what? That’s not me anymore.

            And we wear our scars proudly. We don’t have to live in fear of who may find out, who may learn the true story behind it. We will tell anyone who asks. See this one? This was an abusive relationship for two years. Yes, I regret it. Yes, I am ashamed of it. But guess what? It made me who I am today. And grace has transformed hell into heaven.

            I think that’s my favorite thing about scars. Well, about scars worn proudly. Scars unhidden. They open doors. They break down walls. And God knows we’re in need of something to break down walls.

            We’re broken people, constantly striving to prove we are worth it, to prove we are good enough. We hide our faults so we can convince those around us we have value. Our value lies in perfection, in the affirmation of others. So they must only ever see the pristine façade. They must only see the person we think they want to see.

           

            We enslave ourselves to others every day.

            We sell our lives, our selves, to a concept, an idea, of who we should be and what we should do. Wherever we have gained it, we have decided that is where we will find worth, and body and soul we have sold ourselves to it. It’s a small price to pay for worth, right?

            But we all long to be free. Freedom. It’s a magical word, really. It holds such hope, such relief. It brings to my mind such a picture of relief. The word almost has a taste, a visceral reaction. It is pure magic.

            We long for the freedom to wear our scars, for the courage to stand boldly, scars and all.

            I personally believe scars are a sign of intimacy. Hear me out on this one.

            My boyfriend’s right arm is a maze of scars. And incredibly unlucky childhood led to three terrible breaks on the same arm, various metal pins and plates, and plenty of scars. Now, before my boyfriend became my boyfriend he was simply the boy I was absolutely crazy about, but way too scared to ever talk to. He was simply way out of my league and I was just a scared little sophomore. But I longed to get to know him.

            I have a very vivid memory of him that sophomore year. It must have been early on in my infatuation with him, and I remember being in a group of people with him, simply chatting before choir rehearsal. I sat quietly, as I usually did, simply observing the group. And I remember catching sight of that right arm and thinking, I wonder where those scars came from. I want to know the story behind those scars.

            I adore those scars now, not because I am somehow happy he broke his arm, but because they represent intimacy with him. I now know him well enough to know the stories not only behind those physical scars, but behind every scar he holds inside. I know stories of wounds that literally no one else on earth knows.

            Sometimes I just run my finger down those scars, thinking to myself how incredibly blessed I am to know this man, to understand these scars that have built him, broken him, formed him.

            He knows every scar within me, too. And there will be more to discover, I’m sure. But you see, I am absolutely free to share those scars with him. There is perfect trust to share those hurts, those scars. I am not ashamed to tell him the most shameful of my secrets. There is freedom within that relationship. Freedom from the past, freedom from scars.

            There is freedom because we have both squared with our pasts. We know that our worth comes, not from those scars, not from those past mistakes, not from anything that we do, but from our identity as forgiven children of God. It is that identity that gives freedom, that reality that gives us the courage to share our scars.

             He and I often say that our relationship is how relationships should be. Yes, that sounds incredibly arrogant and conceited. Our relationship is not perfect. But then again, it is. And hear my heart, that is not meant to be arrogant. It is said with humble awe that God has blessed us with something this unbelievably wonderful. This is how life was meant to be.

            We were all meant for community like this, for open intimacy that does not live in fear of another discovering our scars, but that wears scars with humble confidence in the grace of Christ.  That’s where the freedom is found. The truth will set you free. And the truth is we are forgiven. Transformed. Set free. Free to wear our scars.