Scars

Remember two years ago, when shortly before Christmas I did this?

It blows my mind to think it has been TWO years...quite honestly, I thought it had only been one year and when I went back to look in the archives of this blog...I found it had been TWO! WOW!

Well, back to my point, and yes, Virginia, there is a point to this blog post.

After I "grated" my thumb and walked around for weeks and weeks with a horrendous cut and tightly wrapped bandage, I just knew the remnant of my bad cooking experience would always be with me. I knew as soon as that bandage finally came off, that forever, I would look at my thumb and see a hideous scar. I figured it would be the first thing anyone ever noticed about my hands from then on. No need to ever paint my nails or use lotion to make them soft and supple...the scar would detract from any ring or even bracelet I might wear. I was doomed to wait hopelessly for winter every year so I could done a pair of gloves and hide the ugliest scar in the universe from the world, at least for a bit. (Drama? Did someone call me a drama queen? Bite your tongue -- I speak nothing but the truth!!)

Yes, that is truly how I felt, but you know what...when the bandage came off, the scar was not that bad. It was actually more of a little ridge on my thumb. Probably not even noticed by the person sitting next to me, or the cashier as she took my check at Wally World, or my friends or even my family who knew of the accident.

And for two years now, I have just ignored it. Sometimes during church as I sat quietly for that one hour every week I might notice the bump and stroke my other thumb across it. Sometimes I wished it gone, but really, most of the time, it was of no consequence...at least not the glaringly obvious scar I had once feared.

This past Sunday morning as I was sitting in church, my sweet child laying in my lap, I glanced at my hand and noticed my scar...was gone.

There is basically no visible bump or ridge or scar left on my hand. Time has worn it down, or blended it in, or whatever the human body does to ease the ravages we wage on ourselves.

It struck me that sometimes that is how it goes with scars. We have a deep wound, we bandage it and baby it and protect it while it heals. Once healed we learn to live with the scar left by the wound. Depending on the scar, we might conceal it with clothing, hair, makeup, a tattoo, a piece of jewelry, anything to lessen the stares of those around us. We eventually learn to stop noticing it ourselves, it simply becomes a part of us, our story, who we are and the pain which brought it to us is forgotten. And then one day, if we are even luckier, the scar fades. The naked eye can't even see where it used to be. All that is left is clean, clear flesh. Uncut, unseared, unmarked.

I am thankful for all of my scars, the seen and the unseen, the still visible and the faded ones. They connect the lines of my story, they are the foundation underneath my exterior. I am not who I am without them.

Living Happily in the Moment!
Bev