Still perfectly unshattered. ~ M.A.O
I have scars all over my body; scars that I got from my childhood, through to adulthood. These scars, some gotten from playing dangerous games in the abandon of my childhood, before I knew what the future held for me~those that I still look at and wish that I would have been immortalized in my childhood. I look at these scars as milestones, well, some of them have faded, but still, they are lessons to me, like reading a book of history of how my life has unfolded, and the things that I went through to be who I am today….
And then there are those surgical scars on my stomach, a perpetual reminder of how God removed me from a painful phase in life and returned me to a place of safety, from a point where I didn’t think I would sail through. Now I am healed. The only things left are the scars, a constant reminder to me that indeed God Lives….lest I forget.
The strange thing is that sometimes, I find myself staring and touching these scars on my body and I get amazed by how painless they are. Some are dark in color, darker than my skin tone. Some are raised slightly above my skin. Some have faded and look more like pigmentation marks….
some are blending into my skin…
some are indicators of transition, from a stage to another…the scars whisper to me a language that only I can understand. The formation of who I am….imprinted permanently on my being.
If you look carefully, you would notice that I am a walking display of scars…my past, my pains, my struggles, my healing….all merged in these scars on my body.
I am walking Braille, I touch myself, and I can read the things that I have endured, scar by scar…the ones I can touch, and even those that lay deeper in me…scars of betrayal, of sorrow of loss….scars that are etched deep inside of me…like a tattoo that I will wear for eternity.
Some of my scars are big. My most recent one is vividly visible. I can see that the doctor tried all he could to hide it…
But if you look carefully, you still see the imperfection…the crack
This year, I wanted to go and get all the scars removed, and start over…
But I thought about it, and now it has dawned on me…that no amount of lacer surgery, cocoa butter and all the wonder drugs will ever fade the scars that is beneath my skin.
I have gotten my epiphany….
These scars are mine….these scars are my history written on my body. These scars, they are part of my definition…no, not past, but of a future embracing.
You know what? I cannot get perfection…..
We are all broken…somehow, we all have scars; we all have cracks, jiggered pieces of us dripping.
Things have happened in life that have left us with scars, and sometimes we look back at these cracks and we get overwhelmed and feel like we need to remove these imperfections and present a perfect front…
But that is a lie.
We live our lives struggling to be perfect, struggling to show the world how compact and unstained we are…
So much that we lose a huge part of who we really are in the process.
We struggle to show how much we are polished, how we care so much about what people think about us, how we live according to the standards that others have set for us…
When deep inside, we are cracking.
We refuse to embrace our scars….
The inside wounds that pain more and get septic with every passing day that we refuse to accept our imperfections….
In the end, it is these scars, these imperfections, these testimonies of our heling, are perhaps what makes us whole—
Even when we seem so broken!