Scars. They can be a pretty interesting thing. I have one on my face. When I was a kid, I lived for summertime (not much has changed in 30 years). There aren't any teachers pinning notes to my shirt, assuring me of quite the spanking when I get home. It was always baseball season. I never had to do homework or worry about being "good".I could play. All the time. My brother and I would dip outside as soon as the grass dried up.I'd pretend I was Sting, and climb up the split rail fence that separated us from the neighbors cows and I'd jump off onto the "Widowmaker" Barry Windham (being played by my brother).
One day my good friend Chad came over and we rode our bikes up to Holly's house. Chad had a big crush on her, and we thought that by showing her we could ride without using our hands, she'd be impressed with Chad and come and give him that smooch he so desperately desired.He was pedaling and I was right behind him, flying down the road feeling as if I was going 80 miles an hour. The road bent into a curve, and I didn't account for the turns. I crashed headfirst into a wood pile, cut my face open, and I knew I was in trouble. This wreck wasn't like the others.It hurt a lot more. My mom fainted. The ambulance came. I got some stitches and a pretty good story to tell my friends.See that night we were supposed to have a baseball game. And the Doc told me I couldn't play. The great thing though was getting to sit and watch my friends play. I couldn't really participate, but I could cheer them on. I could crack jokes in the dugout and try to steal the other teams signals. I remember walking a little taller because my dad said the cut made me look "bad" and that girls like scars.
Fast forward 30 years.My favorite thing about my station in life is still watching my friends play. There is just something wonderful about adults laughing. We've seen the looks on each others faces at weddings when the doors open and the beloved walks the aisle. We've seen them hold newborn babies that had their noses, as well as their hearts. We've seen God answer prayers that seemed impossible. We've seen dear high school friends look to and put their trust in Jesus. And sadly, life has dealt some scars.
Sometimes the newborn baby doesn't make it. The marriage goes under. Grandparents pass away, the bills come overdue. The job doesn't work, the girls we chase sometimes don't feel the same.These times aren't like the others. They hurt a lot more.The heartbreak shatters so loud you'd swear roof came off. The scars tell us a different story, that something isn't right. They're stories we don't want to share with others. We retreat to a calloused place where nothing can touch us. What we fail to realize (what I fail to realize) is that grace is lurking in every nook and crevice of our sin-shattered hearts. Jesus shows us his scars, and tells us that everything, at long last is going to be ok. Life will kick us in the soul. It's a sad side effect of this world. We are bound to not take into account the curves, and we will crash into the woodpile of disappointment, and shame, and regret. And when we do we find a loving savior who encountered a wooden cross, for the sake of his children. And the grace that brought safe thus far,will still be holding us when we're done.
