These are the scars of our lives

I find scars to be rather intriguing.

What's so fascinating about them is that each one has its own, unique story. I scar rather easily, so I have plenty of scars and plenty of stories to go with them.

For instance, there is the scar above my right eye from when I had to get stitches when I was 2 years old. My older brother and I were playing tag in a racquetball court locker room while our mom was tending to my baby sister. I stopped mid-run, but Chris was too dumb to notice (sorry, that was mean). He ran right into me and sent me flying into the corner of a bench. The result was a righteous black eye, multiple stitches, and a scar that will forever remain.

Then there is the scar on my right hand from when my favorite pet scratched me as she was trying to kill a spider that had just crawled on me. I miss you, Tabster.

I have a scar on my left ear from when I was an idiot. Sorry, that was vague—allow me to clarify. I can't get my ears pierced, because my scar tissue is just that bad. I already have little bumps from when I got them pierced when I was in kindergarten, but apparently I thought I was pretty invincible when I was a senior in high school. Big shocker there. I convinced myself it was wise to get my cartilage pierced. The result? Yes, I now have an unnecessary scar in place of where I wore that earring for a few months (if even that long). This is what happens when 18-year-olds make decisions. I clearly need to stick to stick-on earrings.

Even though you can't see it, there is a lovely scar on the back of my head from where the volleyball pole fell on my head the day before my college graduation. I can now say I've had my head stapled, and I have the scar to prove it. While it's not visible, it can definitely be felt. Just let me know if you'd ever like to feel my head.

There is also a scar on my stomach from when I was swimming at my friend's house one summer, and her ridiculously huge dog jumped up and left a bloody scratch across my body. I'm not sure why dogs always feel the need to jump on me, but for some reason I am always their first target. Thanks for the scar and the memories, dear canine pal.

My left knee is gross.

I have two scars on my left knee. One came from my childhood when I was riding bikes with my brother and dad. I was peddling so hard trying to be just like them and go fast, and I wasn't going to let a little (and by little, I mean gigantic) downhill stop me. Needless to say, I had a major wipeout. Massive amounts of blood ensued, and my knee was forever uglified. At least I got a really delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich to make me forget about the pain for a bit. How is it that moms always know how to make things better?

The second scar on the same knee came my junior year of high school, and it's actually one of my favorite scar stories I own. My school operated on trimesters, and it was kind of weird that year. We started the second trimester for one week, then we went to Thanksgiving break. Well, I was absent the Friday before the break, and of course I forgot about this when we came back. My school had a policy where you had to have an absence slip the day you returned, and you had to get all of your teachers to sign it. Apparently all of my teachers early in the day still had their minds on vacation, because none of them had asked for my pass.

Then I went to English.

Mrs. Perry—who actually turned out to be one of my favorite teachers I ever had—liked to scare her students early before softening up later in the year. It was actually a fairly brilliant tactic, if you ask me. She asked for my absence slip, and I told her I didn't have one. She seemed pretty mad about that and told me to go get one from the office, and it was going to cost me a tardy. Tardy?? I was kind of a goody-goody in some aspects, and I absolutely hated getting in trouble for things other than talking too much or making jokes during class, especially the second week in a teacher's class. So, I hustled big time to go get that pass. I wasn't really thinking about the fact that it was lunchtime, so there might be a line at the office window.

Then I saw it.

Commence anxiety attack.

I was panicking as I waited in line for what seemed like an eternity, and as soon as I got the pass, I took off running back up the stairs so Mrs. Perry wouldn't think I was just taking my time and probably socializing with people who were at the early lunches. The downside to this was that I was wearing flip-flops that day, and my school had brick stairs. Combine that with the fact that I have a tendency to be a complete klutz, and you've got yourself a formula for disaster. One of my flip-flops got caught on the steps, and I had an epic fall. However, I got up as quickly as I could, told myself it would leave a mark but that I needed to suck it up and keep going. Plus, I really didn't want to look back and see how many people were probably entertained by my mishap.

I got back to Perry's room, gave her the pass, sat down and immediately raised my hand. The reason for this was because, as soon as I sat down, I had looked at my jeans and seen blood seeping through at my knee. I pulled my pants up to look at it, and I could see the bone sticking out through the skin. I thought the kid next to me was going to pass out. The good news is that Mrs. Perry felt so awful and impressed after I told her how the bloody mess happened, and I believe this was the moment that changed the way she treated me the rest of the year. We now had a bond—even though it came at my expense. At least I have a cool scar and somewhat deformed knee because of it.

Anytime my left knee even slightly touches something or gets nicked in just the right way, there is an extreme amount of pain that pangs through me, and I'm reminded of why my knee will never be completely normal.

The truth is, we all have scars, and some of them can't be seen. Those are the emotional scars that we carry with us as the result of broken hearts, painful memories, or countless other things in life that leave our minds questioning why such heart-wrenching incidents have to happen to us. But, even though scars are permanent, they still heal. Yes, my knee scars hurt when they get hit, but it's not a constant pain. It's only when those scars are reminded that they are there. Similarly, our emotional scars don't have to be surfaced forever—it's only when we bring them back to light that they hurt again. And, the less we do this, the less pain we will have to undergo.

All scars have their stories, but I think it's important to remember that the greatest story of scars comes from the One who endured tremendous pain that left marks on the hands and feet of our Jesus. Our scar stories are nothing compared to what He did for us.

And that's one scar story that's worth telling as often as possible.