Scars

Scars tell a story. They tell of who we are, where we've been, what life has been like. I have a good many scars, and a good many stories.

I have a scar on my upper thigh from the first time my parents left me with a babysitter that wasn't a relative. She put me in my car seat, ignored my cries, and allowed my leg to get a hole burned into it from the hot metal. When I was growing up, my dad introduced me to that lady as the lady who burnt your leg. She seemed less that thrilled about this. Even though I know he was joking, I also know he never wanted this to happen to me and was surely very angry at this babysitter.

I got stitches on my chin six times before I was 8. There are some nice stories there. It tells of being a crazy little kid. Playing in the pool. Jumping (stupidly, I admit) from the fence into the trailer...and not making it the whole way there!

I have a huge scar on my right knee. This is from when I was 13 at church camp. Being the cool kid I thought I was, I left my cabin when I wasn't supposed to and ended up falling down a hill. It was a nasty injury, so wide that stitches weren't even an option. It took a long time for that one to heal!

A couple weeks ago, I badly burned my left hand at work. There now is a scar. Every time I look at that scar from now on, I will remember living in Scotland.

See, scars bring back memories! We can choose to forgo the memory of the pain and remember all the good times we had! Scars tell a story; they are like a permanent reminder of life.