Scars

I have been thinking about scars. Scars are one of the things that make a person unique. I have seen cool scars, terrible scars, ugly scars, and unusual scars. The idea of the scar is intriguing. Many of the events in our lives that define us live only in our memories, when we die those memories go with us and the records of those events are lost. Scars are an independent witness to our lives that we carry with us, a kind of passport. I carry the memory of how the scar was created but someone else can at least know that something happened and depending on the location and shape can probably guess what happened.

I have two slits on the back of my shoulder and one of the front. This means that I had my shoulder scoped when I was 19. To me that brings back memories of the excrutiating pain of physical therapy and the disappointing realization that my shoulder will never be strong no matter what i do.

I have a scar on my forehead and a couple more on my wrist from chickenpox as a child. That brings back memories of my brother bringing home the chickenpox from school and laying at home sick and watching tv while trying not to scratch.

My surgery scar was an injury to help me, chickenpox was a rite of passage in childhood.

I had a friend tell me recently that she has scars from past relationships, things that happened to her that no matter what happens to her in the future, she will bear the mark of that trauma. She cant escape that past. Another friend, who is happily married, told me that even though she has found someone who is right for her she still has the scars from an old relationship that hurt a lot. It was startling for me to see the scar of that pain in her eyes. I didnt realize until then I might carry an unfair view of married people as people whose pasts are magically wiped away by a wedding band. That moment definitely will stay with me.

I too have scars from the past that will show my whole life. The funny thing is we try to hide our scars because it seems we will be rejected by the world if they are exposed. But when someone sees my scars (physical and non) they dont recoil in horror. They usually say something like "thats nothing, you gotta see this one" and show me one of theirs. I do the same thing to other people.

Where do we get this perfection complex? I have a nagging voice in my head that tells me i need to be perfect everyday because if i screw up then i am lost forever and there is no way to grace.

I think I am going to try to be comfortable with my scars and accept them as a part of my life. To be comfortable in my skin.

Jesus has scars. that's an interesting idea.