The Scar

I have scars.

I'm not talking about my caesarean scar.

Nor am I talking about the faint scar on my face from when I fell face first onto the bitumen while jumping rope on my third day of Year 7.

Nor do I mean the scar on my leg from when I accidentally walked into the stump of a dead bush while trying to remove it two days prior to Christmas 2011.

I have scars which are not easily visible.

We all do.

The longer we live the more scars we bear.  Scars from conflict, from disappointments, from hardships...from life.

A scar must be allowed to heal properly.  Too often others will be impatient with our scars.  They'll want us to heal quickly and get on with life again.  But a scar cannot close over properly unless what is underneath it has been cleaned.  The muck under it must be removed so that scar can heal and we can move on.

Even if a scar has healed properly, it never fades completely.  It remains a visible reminder of where we've been, and influences our behaviour and choices in the future.

So when you feel like you just don't understand somebody, it may be because of a scar they bear, a scar you can't see unless you dig deeper and get to know them well.

Scars are not bad.  When the wound is fresh, the pain is often unbearable.  But the scar is a reminder of where I've been....and that I have survived.