Thursday, January 20, 2011


The other day I was driving around town somewhere and found myself staring at my right wrist. There lies a scar I incurred at the age of seven or so. I was pushing my cool Barbie Corvette and pushed it right into a crack in the sidewalk. I kept going. The car did not.

This scar is over 20 years old. The wound is healed, but the scar has yet to fade completely. A lot of things in life are like that. We fall. We get hurt. Over time, it heals, but it still leaves a mark. A reminder. We wonder if the scar will ever fade from the recesses of our memories. But the presence of the scar does not mean that we are NOT healed. We are.

Some scars never fade. They tell their stories even after we can no longer tell them ourselves. They are a part of our story, a part of who we are. We just have to be careful not to let them define us. It is what we've been through, overcome, and been healed through that defines us. And for me, it's my Healer that defines me. His scars tell a story too. A story of death, life and redemption. If His scars defined Him, all that would be told is pain and death. But it's what He overcame that makes Him so amazing. His scars simply remind us of that.