THESE SCARS – Part 2
They Still Speak
The Silent Language of Living Wounded
Wherever you are today, your limitations, your walls, your scars are before God’s eyes.
September 14th, 2022
ALABASTER TEARS
CONTINUED (from Monday, September 12th)
‘Get inside. Quick! Before you’re seen.’ The voice was husky and insistent, his face hidden by shades several sizes too large. Next to the center console lay a stack of twenties, enough to buy the girl a little bit of foolishness and bravery. She hesitated but for just a moment. ‘Com’on! No time to waste!’ a loud whisper clung to the dash. She climbed in, sticking as close to the edge of her seat as she could get away with as she pulled the door closed against her thigh. She smoothed her hair, letting it fall around her to hide her face. Really, she was still just a child with a baby face, even though her soul was old and jaded. Sometimes that scared her customers, so she kept herself hidden for as long as possible.
The car sped up, but its driver still hadn’t uttered another word. After they had driven a couple blocks with still an uncomfortable silence sitting between them like a third party, the girl chanced a tiny glance. He looked uncomfortable, like maybe he was a newcomer, and harmless, a grandfather to somebody. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to. That happened occasionally—not often enough, but on occasion—and was a huge relief when therapy ended with a few words being all that was required to be exchanged for a few bills. She admonished herself at once. Sometimes grandpa-types could be the meanest and angriest and most difficult to please. She dropped her eyes to her lap again, beginning her relaxation exercises to transport herself away from here. Still not a word.
Soon, the man pulled slowly into an alley, inching cautiously next to a doorway where he came to a stop. ‘Get out and step inside.’ The girl began to protest, but when she peeked at the man, he simply seemed profoundly sad. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, almost like he was handing her a promise, an apology, and for some reason, the girl believed him. ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ but it didn’t seem like a warning; just a statement; then he smiled gently. ‘G’on now. It’s okay,’ he said again, this time shyly.
Her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely open the door, and her knees knocked against each other as she bumped into the sunken door. All up and down the alley were indentions where inset doors stood, but in the shadows they looked like empty eye sockets, peering into nothingness. She memorized landmarks around her just in case she disappeared and needed to try to signal someone for help. She’d never quite had this sensation before, and a series of slides skipped through her mind as if her life were passing before her eyes.
She recalled a picture of herself as a baby, the sprinkling of droplets of water glistening on her face, a surprised look in her eyes. Her baptism as an infant to which she eventually had objected. Water baptism was a personal decision and shouldn’t be made for you by adults in your life, she had screamed at her parents before running away. A second memory, one of her own baby, a happy smile playing with his lips as he batted chunky hands at something out of reach. Then she remembered the night he was born, the look in his daddy’s eyes, back when he used to love her and their baby and the life they had allowed to transpire. Her one empty hand touched the scarring left behind from the c-section that had saved her and the baby’s life. Saved their lives but cost the relationship; she sighed. No one likes a scarred-up, used-up, blemished tramp. Hard for grownups to share what they don’t own, she thought sadly. Scars cost a lot, she sighed again, aloud in the dark.
She shoved the door open, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness coming from intense sunlight. Dust mites played in the shock of light, twirling like ballerinas might. Shaking as only an anxious puppy could, she pushed the door closed behind her, gripping her phone tightly in her hands. A scream hung in her throat like a curtain and her baby crossed before her eyes once more. What was she doing here, she wondered, and suddenly the food she had been hungering to eat and the care she’d promised her son she would give him upon her return seemed like illusions. It no longer seemed that important as the miles and minutes separated her and the baby by eons now instead. She thought of the promise she’d always heard and never quite understood—how much sense it now made: ‘You never know what you have until it’s gone.’ The cry she was stifling eked out, and trembling fingers grazed the door in search of a handle. But she could find none. No handle anywhere; nothing but burning hot metal, searing her fingertips. And when she opened her mouth, the scream she had been swallowing fell out, reverberating endlessly from the back wall, filling the blackened room.
TO BE CONTINUED (Friday, September 16th)
Luke 7:39-43, ‘When Simeon saw what was happening, he thought, “This man can’t be a true prophet. If he were really a prophet, he would know what kind of sinful woman is touching him.” Jesus said, “Simeon, I have a word for you.” “Go ahead, Teacher. I want to hear it,” he answered. “It’s a story about two men who were deeply in debt. One owed the bank one hundred thousand dollars and the other only owed ten thousand dollars. When it was clear that neither of them would be able to repay their debts, the kind banker graciously wrote off the debts and forgave them all that they owed. Tell me, Simeon, which of the two debtors would be more thankful? Which one would love the banker most?” Simeon answered, “I suppose it would be the one with the greater debt forgiven.” “You’re right,” Jesus agreed.’ (TPT)
Isaiah 49:16, ‘”Can’t you see? I have carved your name on the palms of My hands! Your walls are always my concern.”’
