Skip to main content

new scars.

I went to the dermatologist yesterday. I had a spot on my face I wanted her to look at. Apparently, the rule at the dermatologist is that they want to look at everything.
EVERYTHING.
And trust me, if I’d known I was going to strip down and wear an extra large paper towel for an hour of my afternoon I might have shaved my legs and worn cuter panties.
Instead I found myself standing there in not my favorite underwear and a paper towel while she measured moles on my thighs and back and everywhere else.
She kept asking me if certain spots had always been there. If they’d always looked like that. Been that dark or that big or shaped like the state of Connecticut.
A few were familiar, but most of the time I had no idea. Some spots she pointed out I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before. Much less noticed their diameter, shade edges, or spotting. I have lots of moles and freckles. They just showed up.  I don't keep track. You can’t expect me to name them or remember them.

However, if she had asked me about my scars. The ones on my knees, forehead or anywhere else. Those I know. They all come with stories. They aren’t so easily missed or forgotten.
I’ve written about my favorite scar before here
And scars are something I consider "the ugly beautiful", as Anne Voskamp likes to call it.

Scientifically speaking (or at least according to Wikipedia), scars are fibrous tissues that replace normal skin after an injury. It results from the body’s natural way of repairing anything that has been damaged. It is a natural and critical part of healing. And not all wounds leave a scar. Only big, deep ones. Scars are actually made out of the exact same proteins as the tissue it replaces. But. It is still different. It looks different. It acts different. And it is more sensitive. They change us.

And why I am even thinking about this in the first place. Barron Batch, most well known for being an impressive running back that was recently drafted to the Pittsburg Steelers, also happens to be a fantastic writer. Just a few days before his first pro game ever, he tore his ACL. Recently out of surgery, this is what he had to say about it on his blog:
“I have a new scar now. Its permanent address is my left knee. It is a work of art created by the artist simply known as Life. Life doesn’t discriminate whom she scars physically or emotionally. However, over my 23 years of life I have come to realize the beauty of scars. How crazy would it be if once wounds healed they didn’t leave a mark, what if there were no scars? What if we healed without a reminder or what was? Would you forget the pain that you endured? Would you forget the healing process that took place? Would you even forget the wound altogether?


Scars serve as a permanent reminder of our fragility but more importantly our strength. Scars are proof of what you have overcome. Every time I look at my many scars I remember how weak I was at the time the wound was formed, and what formed it. I remember the healing process. I remember the strength I didn’t know I had to push through, and I remember eventually being healed.”
(you can read the whole thing here if you want. and trust me, you want to)

Every scar reminds us that we have been permanently changed.
And more importantly healed.
Weakened. And then made new.
So wear them with pride. Tell their stories. Don’t forget the lessons you’ve learned.

Mine for example:
Don’t scratch even if it itches bad. (the big chicken pock scar on my forehead).
Don’t ride on the hoods of cars. (a nice one on the side of my wrist).
Go easy on the turns. (a thick scar on my knee from a bad biking wipeout)
Duck. (a nice one on my hairline that almost needed stitches).
I had no idea I could love anyone that much. Twice. (a 6-7 inch pink line across my lower abdomen)
And I have plenty more. But what I don’t have. Open wounds. (at least not for long). Because more importantly than all my scars. Is the fact that they always heal. Some need stitches or staples or band aids. No matter how careful we are, we will get injured. But. We are continually being put back together. It gets better, it just might leave a mark.

the song I've wanted to listen to at least a dozen times the last 2 days for no reason other than it makes me happy...


but the more obvious choice for today's post..

Comments

samskat said…
After Hailey got her first big scar (from a burn on her hand, when the iron fell on it), I thought about it...how she was born with no scars. Not one. And how for the rest of her life, she would be gaining more of them, and they would all have a story. It was something that had never occurred to me before. Pretty sobering thought, that I couldn't protect her from those...(just like I couldn't protect her while I walked from the room for TWO SECONDS with the iron on...)

Popular posts from this blog

Of course I did.

Today I am supposed to be doing my last installment in five for ten and write about "yes". And this is not at all the post I intended. But life sometimes doesn't take the turns we want it to. And yesterday a teacher friend of mine called and told me about a memorial service for one of my former studetns and asked if maybe I would consider saying something. And keep in mind, that as a teacher, I pretty much speak to groups of people all day for a living. But. If I have to say something serious and heartfealt, even to an audience of one, I usually get all mumbly and stare at my shoes and forget what I was going to say. Even though I love this kid....and will miss him terribly I have a hard time imaging myslef on stage talking to an auditorium filled with grief stricken friends and family. I texted another friend about my reservations. And she knows all too well my mumbly shoe staring state. And she replied, "Did you say yes?" Did which I typed back. "of cour...

Either/Or

Recently I met an old friend for lunch. He was actually my senior high prom date. He wasn’t just my prom date, but had been my friend for a good part of high school. And our group has mostly stayed in touch through the years. But not him. Even though we live in the same big metroplex, I hadn’t seen him in almost 15 years. At prom, He even won some kind of senior superlative, Mr. BHS or something like that. In other words, he was well-liked, nice, funny and smart. And it helped that he drove a Camero. We didn’t break up or have a falling out. He kind of just disappeared. And not just from me, but from everyone. And I had looked for him. At class reunions. On myspace. And eventually, only about a year ago, he finally showed up on facebook. When he did, I suggested we get together for dinner or something. And he responded with a really awkward email. Explaining that he was gay. Warning me. Trying to let me out of my dinner invitation if I wanted. And I already knew this. Possibly I had ev...

me too

I used to never question God. It was just part of the way things were. Just like I believed in Santa and the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. And eventually I grew up and started to wonder. I always believed, But occasionally I started to wonder if he was always good. If he really loved me. Singular me rather than an all inclusive version. That he was paying attention. That my prayers mattered.` And I didn’t know that I should play by the rules. That questioning these outloud things in a Bible study or Sunday School class Will get you bumped to the top of the prayer list. Because I know. But sometimes I wonder. And I didn’t need their scripture memory verses or their books or their prayers. (but I guess prayers never hurt) And I was just hoping for someone else to say “me too”. And, Jason Boyett’s book, O Me of Little Faith Is one great big “me too” And like most books I like he asks a whole lot more questions than he answers. Hard ones. Ones without real answers. Ones that make me wa...