Three Types of Scars

The only antidote to pride is humility and the only cure of selfishness is sacrifice. If it is better for the other, than it is better all around. So I sit. I sit and wait. I let the pain answer for the actions, I let the desire, the selfishness, the futility rage as I sit in one spot and make no moves. I submit to the process, the procedure, the life saving measures, knowing they have to be more right than my ways. I rage and miss and raise a fist while never leaving the Throne room, knowing outside is death, but inside is life, as painful as it is.

As I am spent with energy, I sit down against the wall, eyes puffy, heart heavy, fearing the next moment. I look over at His chair, thinking I will see Him calmly sitting there watching me with amusement. But, to my surprise, He's not. I look around the room slightly worried. He's not even in the here. I close my eyes and my head falls back against the wall, Even He can't stand my raging. I don't blame Him either...

Then, quietly, light enters the dim room as the curtain is pulled back and I see Him enter again, this time with a bowl of hot water and a towel over His shoulder. He walks over, sits down next to me and sets the bowl aside.

"I know it hurts. I know how bad it feels right now. You have every right to be angry. I would be too."

I'm a bit caught off guard by the statement. It's not the scathing rhetoric I expected. He looks down at my hands. I do as well. They are balled into fists, bloodied, scraped and bruised from pounding on the floor, the walls, anything within reach. They hurt... badly. Slowly I open them up, not even realizing how tight they had been clenched.

He picks up the bowl and water wordlessly. Slowly He dips the towel in the water and holds out His hand to me patiently, quietly. I see His scar. Healed over and ugly. They comfort me somehow. Hesitantly I hold out my hand to Him. He starts to gently wipe it off with the water and towel. I flinch, tears still streaming down my face. I would feel ashamed by my outburst, but my heart still hurts too much. I can't feel anything besides emptiness and now, the stinging in my hands, torn from the fight with walls that have no qualm with me.

He says nothing for a moment. He lets me just watch as He washes out my cuts and scrapes. I can't speak for a long time. His kindness only brings more pain. If He is this good, there is no one to blame but myself. I've been raising these same fists to anyone that would dare get in the way of me and what I want. It's everyone's fault but my own. Every loss is another reason why I am right and they are wrong, but now, with nothing left to lose, the buck stops here. If I let Him off the hook, there's no one left to blame but myself. What will I do then? Who will I convince that this most recent devastating loss is the wrong way and it should be different? Who will make it better for me? No one.

He seems to be reading my thoughts as He slowly bandages my hands and then starts putting away the medicinal tools. I study His scars again, but differently this time. My cynicism pokes its head again, forming the thought, I guess we all pay a price huh?

He laughs slightly as He hears my ironic thought.

"Yeah, we all pay a price. How true." He sits back against the wall as we both look out at nothing.

"I wish I could make this all go away. I wish I could make this better for you. I can't though. You know that."

Tears starting up again, I nod my head in agreement. I see the wisdom, feel the truth of what He says. I hate it, but I get it.

"Scars are funny things. Some wear them as badges, some wear them as accessories. They can be something to almost take pride in. Hoping everyone will see how brave they were to come through this awful thing. Those are the scars that fade with time, that are small and insignificant. Then there are those that hide their scars, not letting anyone see them, feeling as though they are defective, worse, or cursed because of their scar. They limp along, the pain of the scar greater with everyday."

I understand Him more than I want to admit. I have both kinds.

"Life on this earth will bring you both. There are other scars people know nothing about on me. Ones that came from walking to long on the road, or cutting myself as I was learning carpentry. Everyone faces these sorts of wounds. Some heal properly, some don't. Handling these sorts of wounds is fairly easy. Dab on some ointment and off you go.

"The third type of scar, the ones that really matter, the ones that save lives, that mean change, hope and life, these are different. They are always big enough to be noticed, but healed enough to not hurt every moment of everyday. They can come from your choices, others choices, or My choices. They can come from love, sin or just plain selfishness. What makes these scars so different is not where they come from, but what is done with them. It's what they mean to you, to Me. Trusting me is not a great emotion, not a great choice and sacrifice. Sometimes, when these scars start as wounds, the only differing moment is how much you let me clean them out. It's coming in here, screaming with me and no one else, letting me pour into them, when nothing else makes sense. It's knowing I empathize, I feel your pain and I hold no anger, no frustration, no confusion, demand or manipulation against you."

My hands have stopped hurting while He was talking and I notice for once, I am not crying. I intently listening, feeling His words settle in some deep place. I don't feel better, but I feel heard. I feel understood. That's enough.

"You may not understand right now, and you may not even believe me that this was best. That's okay, I will still be God, even when you don't know it. This sort of scar though. This type you will gain from this is the same type you see on my wrists. It will be a mark where you decided to trust Me, rather than play out your own scenario, choose your own path, or relied on your own understanding. I had to do the same with My Father, and He was right too, as I am now. I didn't know what would happen, how it would happen, I just knew what He had promised me and I had to walk it through. There is always fear in pain, but that doesn't change the need for either. If there were no pain, there would be no change. If there were no fear, you would not need Me."

"But this is all my fault. I messed up so bad. I hate it. I have no one to blame but myself. You were God. I mean You didn't deserve anything You got. Somehow it seems a little more justified for You to be healed, or blessed or whatever. I wake everyday paying the consequences of my actions."

"True. And it may seem hopeless now, but you forget, when I took on Calvary, I took on your fault. I was just as guilty as you. That's the point. I could have blamed myself for even creating the human race and requiring me to sacrifice this much. I could have thought myself selfish for even wanting to be with you and putting you through all of this, but that's not how it works. Somethings you can't understand until you are on the other side. Every time one of my beloved falls more in love with me and knows a greater depth it was worth it. Every time I discipline and it bears fruit of love and joy in that person's life, every time I see a gift opened and it is accepted in all fullness because loss has been known before, it is a sort of joy for me, for that person you can't comprehend. Everything has it's purpose, its time, its rightness and healing. There is nothing lost, wasted, or meaningless in my kingdom, or my heart."

"No offense, but how does that help me now?" I'm frustrated, but really wanting to know. He laughs at my blatantly selfish question.

"Ahhh... out of the mouths of babes. It doesn't. I know. That sucks. All it does is tell you to live and trust me that I know what I am doing. I had planned to redeem you, your life and your mistakes before you were born. Let the scar heal. Let the pain be real, mark you, as mine did me. Let it be a sacrifice to me of trust and belief. I'm not asking for great emotions of overjoyed expression, but I am asking you to let the loss, the pain, the hurt be real enough to mean something to you and to Me. I'm asking you to trust me that it has a purpose and I am working it out. This was the best way, the most effective. I don't make light of it. It is a big deal. It's a hard thing to do. The break you sustained is great, the loss terrible, the brokenness inevitable. I take that seriously. I grieve with you. I hurt with you. There is no part of me that is unaware of the great hole that exists in your heart. But I also make no excuses for myself. I make no justifications. I am mysterious. You won't understand me. You just have to know I am asking you to trust me in the hardest most painful place and that makes it all the more real, all the more meaningful to me and to you. I can't take the pain away, you need it. But I can promise meaning in it. I can promise a scar that will bring a smile to your face for the rest of My life."

I don't speak for a long, long moment. I sit back, close my eyes and cry. I feel Him grab my hand and interlace His fingers with mine. My head falls onto His shoulder as I cry harder. There's nothing left to say. There's nothing left to throw, nothing left to try and change, beg for relief, or questions to ask. He starts humming the tune of "Don't let me go" by the Fray. I laugh just slightly.

Sometimes there is no way out but through. I could daydream for a rescue, but it would change nothing. All I can do is submit to the process, hoping nothing is in vain and the cancer being eradicated never comes back. I can only trust that the way He moves has an economy of action that produces results never imaginable before. I can only let Him have the control, bowing to a greater intellect, a more mysterious path. I wonder slightly what my scar will look like, but then again, that's out of my control. The most I can do at this moment is pray the wound has its way, that nothing is left, no disease is left to grow unhindered again. I can only let the pain have its way and work its magic of scarring and changing. I can only pray nothing, no tear is cried in vain. As I release again, there is no comfort, no bliss, but at least I know I am in good Hands...