THESE SCARS
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 28th, 2022
CUT it OUT
Hard to be a teenager and already feel as if it has been thirteen long years of living. All that pain and anger and discouragement scrawled itself across her skin like a topography map. Every roadblock was a raised incision in hidden places. Each broken dream became another busted wound where the blood leaked out and relieved the hurt somewhat. Each slice brought her back to life when she feared she wanted to die more than she wanted to live. Every prick reminded her to breathe. All her scars told a very sad story. The day her mom walked out. The nights her dad drank more than he ate. The moment she realized her brother was gone for good. The big fat ‘F’ always decorating the top of her homework—a constant hint she was a Failure with a capital ‘F’, the insinuation she was branded with a loud ‘L’ for Loser on her forehead. The friends who walked away. The fact no one ever wanted to stick around long enough to read the riddles of pain she wrote on her body.
There are many people in our world—men and women, boys and girls—who are stamped by years of emotional agony, marked by lifetimes of rejection, loneliness, betrayal, abuse, the need to be noticed, abandonment, inconsolable aching. They cut in the secret places, behind closed doors, bleeding in dark and lonely moments. They slice and dice in private, hidden from others, yet they really are crying out for someone simply to see them, to care. They watch the blood seep down a drain or soak into a rag, wishing it were they; some grateful to find they can still feel…something. The wounds and scars remain hidden beneath clothing, but I imagine there is a self-fought battle inside as they wonder, ‘What if?’ What if someone sees? What if someone never sees? Wouldn’t that mean they never allowed someone close enough with whom to be vulnerable? Or wouldn’t that mean they always thought in the back of their mind, hoped beyond hope, someone—even just some one—would care enough to know? While dreaming of the first date, imagining the first kiss, thinking about love and all it entails…surely, somewhere in the secrecy, they wish their story will be read, their scars will be touched, their hopelessness will be known.
In Genesis 16, we find a forlorn woman who has escaped the wrath of her mistress for whom she serves. She may not be covering up scars left behind by a blade, but she bears in her body the secret of a son, a baby conceived at the wrong time, in the wrong manner, before a promise could come to fruition, a means to an end. Hagar is on the run and drowning in her sadness; I’m sure questioning her existence and that of her unborn baby’s. Found in the desolation and desperation of a dry desert, the angel of the Lord speaks to her, and from His Words, she exclaims (v.13), ‘You are the God Who sees me!’ For she says, ‘I Have now seen the One Who sees me!’ On that day, in that moment, life changes for Hagar. Maybe not everything changes—she did not return to a master who suddenly had a new heart and treats her better. She couldn’t undo what had been already done—but something inside Hagar softens when she realizes she is seen, found, noticed, by the God of the Universe. She exclaims, ‘You are the God Who sees me!’ What a wondrous thing, what an intense thing, how miraculous and humbling, to be seen, to be known by a Holy God.
He sees us too. It isn’t just a woman in a desert back at the beginning of time; it is everyone, no matter what. He has great interest in all of us. Why wouldn’t He? When you do something, make something, create something—especially parents who stare in awe at each child they conceive—we are pleased, proud, hopeful our interest shows. Why wouldn’t Father God also be consumed with every part of us, His children, His creation? I imagine His heart breaks at the many things He sees. I know for sure what I have done in secret or otherwise has greatly troubled Him and caused Him deep sadness. So sad that He chose to send His only Son to redeem my mistakes, to save me. But He never gave up, and He never will.
What God gave on a hill called Calvary, what Jesus did at the cross, hasn’t changed the many scars we collect, nor the things we endure in this life, whether self-imposed or done to us. But the message behind them and the story we will tell can greatly be enhanced, and for good not for harm, upon our surrendering our pain to Father God, to Jesus. When we ask for healing, for forgiveness, for freedom, for a new beginning, the story our scars speak of, can help someone else and set us free and bring God glory.
I’ll never forget the day she pulled on the new dress I bought her. Her back was before me, her head buried in her chest, a curtain of hair hid her face. I saw the droplets of tears on the tile in front of her. I waited, holding my breath. Finally, she asked in a child’s voice, ‘Do you think it will matter, Mom? There are no sleeves,’ she pointed out needlessly, but I realized I hadn’t noticed. ‘Why, honey, would it matter?’ I asked, confused. Slowly, she turned toward me, and I fought to swallow my gasp. ‘Because it shows my scars,’ she wept. I flattened my face. I knew in that moment she hadn’t worn a sleeveless shirt in longer than I could recall. I hadn’t before seen the cost of our divorce written like a pleading on her skin. I wanted to weep, but suddenly, just as sure as I was alive, I knew this to be true. I took a deep breath and smiled, ‘It won’t matter at all, baby. Your scars tell a story, and your story will help many others hurting like you.’ And she has been helping others ever since.
Psalm 56:8, ‘You’ve kept track of all my wandering and my weeping. You’ve stored my many tears in Your bottle—not a one will be lost. For they are all recorded in Your book of remembrance.’ (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.”’
