We all talk about ours. I got this one on my knee from a bicycle crash when I was 14. I got this one on my forehead from a fall off a chair as a toddler. And I got this one on my hand from hitting a tree on a four-wheeler not so long ago.
Scars. Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation. Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.
We all have them, and some of us take pride in them. We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals. Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.
Every scar tells a story. Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true. Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet. And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.
For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed. Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:
The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
scar.
The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
protruding from his leg.
Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:
A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words. A verbal assault
that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly. A moment where being
"right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.
A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
you, supposed to understand you, your heart. A new chasm opened up between you, and
the eyes to see it...
it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.
More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger. If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.
These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will. But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently. So I have a reminder.
Then we have what I call Battle Scars. Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars. But that's not what I mean.
There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make. The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.
For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".
I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.
Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.
It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer: "I am no longer my own, but thine."
(Thine. Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)
In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
First, I had to realize I'm broken.
Fallen.
Not perfect.
Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One). We ALL do. This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others. Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
Second, I sought help for this fallen nature. Who am I kidding. How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed. (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?) He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.
In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life. So what could I give Him?
A couple hours on Sunday morning?
Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
NOTHING.
I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.
I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your only rational and logical worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."
Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...
So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?
I have to give myself up. Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.
I have to give up my life. As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.
I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.
And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done. No, this happens every day. Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I die. What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.
And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.
Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced. The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator; it's a battle I fight every day.
As in any battle, this one produces scars as well. But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.
