Friday, January 10, 2014

Thoughts on Scars

There's a one inch scar on the outside of my right forearm.  It's hard to ignore.  When I'm driving, when I'm on the computer, when I'm eating, when I'm not wearing long-sleeved shirts (which in Texas is most of the time), I see that scar.  It doesn't hurt.  It's just a small, very pinkish white line, on my arm - and it reminds me to keep all body parts away from the coils of a hot oven!  It doesn't hurt, but it reminds me of searing pain.  
I also have scars on my eyes due to a recent minor surgery.  They looked pretty bad the first week after the surgery . . .  I didn't leave the house that week, faithfully applied ice packs every 20 minutes, and smeared ointment over the glaring thick red lines left by my doctor's scalpel. He instructed me not to use any make-up around my eyes or cover them with bandages.  
The second week, though, the make-up went back on and I left the house.  Friends remarked, "I can't even tell you had surgery."  Well, considering they were looking through my eyeglasses and a few layers of beige foundation, I guess that's not surprising . . . but my scars are still there.

Yesterday, I talked with a beautiful young woman who started sobbing as she told me about her move from her mom's house to a friend's house.  "I need to find out who I am.  I need to learn to love myself," she explained as she talked about the verbally toxic relationship she had with her mother, a woman she described as one who spent her life using verbal manipulation and criticism to control her daughter . . . and left scars.

My husband spent some time working at Walter Reed Army Medical Center a few years ago.  That place is filled with scars . . . glaring, deep, frightening, open, painful scars.  And there are just as many scars that can't be seen - scars in the mind, in the heart, in the blood, in the very core of a person's being - glaring, deep, frightening, hidden, open, painful scars.  The hospital is also filled with wonderfully amazing doctors, therapists, counselors, psychiatrists, chaplains who work tirelessly at easing the impact . . .  of scars.

I have a few friends who remember Allison's birthday each year, who send messages filled with their precious memories of my daughter . . . and there have been many others in my life who weren't afraid, who invited me to wash off the make-up, remove all the coverings, reveal the wounds . . . the scar.

A Filipino Christian was quoted in Christianity Today (Jan 2014) as saying, "We prayed the typhoon would not be strong.  The Lord did not answer our prayer."  His new prayer: "Increase our capacity to respond."  When prayers aren't answered, wounds are inflicted, scars are born - may we pray, "Lord, ease the impact of the scar and increase our capacity to respond."