The Story Scars Tell

If I were to say the word dots what would you think of?

To a nurse, there might be a quick flash of images of measles, chicken pox, or some other rash-like nastiness. To an artist, the thought would stray to pointillism wherein a series of what looks like dots up close, in reality when viewed from the correct perspective is a beautiful picture or masterpiece. To a fighter, it could be the dots in their vision after an upsetting loss by knockout. To a parent, it could be the fingerprints that seem to be everywhere just after cleaning up. To a car aficionado, it is the spots of bird feces that find the windshield just after a fresh wash and wax. To a teacher, there are thousands of things it could be from periods forgotten at the ends of sentences to marker marks on children's faces and so much more.

When I think of the word dots, the only image or thought I have is scars. I believe that every scar tells a story; some of these stories are of tragic wounds, others of courage and bravery, some of victories and triumphs, and still others of heartache, brokenness, or loss. Scars are important, not to take us back to the things we encountered that could have destroyed, broken, or ruined us, but to remind us from where we have come and to give us hope for the future yet in front of us.

I have scars that can be seen, others that can be hidden if I so choose, and still others that are invisible to the eye. I am not the only one; we all carry scars. Every now and again my scars will ache and I am immediately transported back to a moment in time, a memory, a laugh, a conversation, a smile, a tear, heartache, or joy. There are scars from relationships, friendships, grief, loss, courageous moments where I stood up for others, injuries sustained, and in one instance the hope and promise of new life. Now the new life that I speak of in this instance is not the life that I have received in Jesus, or the promise of new life given through bearing a child. In this instance, the scars I have that are from the promise of new life are scars that I bear proudly because they were for my Dad.

My Dad.

He was courageous. He was brave. He was both a man's man and a sensitive man of compassion and hope for others. He was a man who unashamedly loved his wife and truly would shout it from the mountaintops for ALL to hear and whisper it in her ear with his words dripping with the magnitude of his love. He was a man who sacrificed his time, sleep, and so much more for his children and family. He was not perfect and would openly talk of his flaws, but lived with in the knowledge that he was a good man with a good heart and a life that was better than anything he could have created or imagined for himself. My Dad had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. One of the later courses of treatments he encountered was the need for a bone marrow transplant. As such, his siblings, myself, and my siblings were tested to see who was the best match. After a series of events, I was chosen to be the bone marrow donor as I was a full match to my Daddy. I am not going to go into the intricacies of how they pull the bone marrow or the length of time the surgery took; it is too much information and would warrant a separate post. I will tell you that across my lower back I have seven dots. These dots are the entry points for the surgery that removed the bone marrow that was then given to my father that began a work in him. A few months after the transplant, my father ended up receiving the ultimate healing in that he went home to the home we were created for, heaven.

But, the dots remain.

These dots, these scars were the promise of new life in and for my Dad. The promise of healing and cancer defeated and a life yet to be lived. My dad taught me this lesson throughout my life and in his death, we are not finished when we are defeated, we are finished when we quit. My Dad never quit and I will never quit. I will never quit feeling my scars. I will never quit loving people whether they love me or have wronged me.  I wear these dots, these scars; most of the time they are hidden - not to keep them a secret, but because I seek modesty and they are on my lower back after all.

When these scars ache I think of my Dad - the good times, the hard times, the lessons learned, and the love given. These scars have marked me in a physical way that will never fully disappear. I relish in these scars because they were an opportunity to give to someone everything I had in a way that could never be repaid, pure love - a love that requires nothing in return.

In the same way, there are scars that you and I, as well as people past and future, have caused and are yet freed by. Those scars lay upon Jesus Christ and provide the promise and truth of new life. That new life is found in Him and is not limited by our short time on this Earth, but rather is eternal, forever, and unbound by time. Those scars are a physical representation of the sacrifice He bore to ensure that we did not have to pay the punishment for our mistakes, our choices, our sin. Rather, through Him, we are able to experience and live out salvation, forgiveness, mercy, grace, and love. He loves you. It doesn't matter if you return it. It doesn't matter if you think you don't deserve it. It doesn't matter how poorly you see yourself. It doesn't matter how far you've fallen or how dirty you have become. He loves you. That is not going to change. He loves you.

Just in case you need to hear it one more time, HE LOVES YOU!

That is the story scars tell.