Scars
I can tell you the stories behind each one.
I received the small scar by my eye from my older sister who “accidentally” hit me with a canoe paddle one summer that we spent on Lake Charlevoux in Michigan. I love Lake Charlevoux and I love canoeing.
Then there’s the scar on my wrist and ankle. I got this one in India while riding a moped. Me and the driver crashed when a cobra reared up at the tire. We walked away fine, but infection soon set in, I was laid up for a week, visited a hospital in the middle of the night, and now proudly bear the scar from that amazing summer.
Then there’s the small one on my hand wear my younger sister accidentally stuck a steak knife in my hand during dinner. The scene was very dramatic at the time, though the memory always makes me laugh when I look at it now.
Scars have stories and memories, feelings and longings attached to them…don’t they? And not just the scars that we see on the outside, but those silent ones that litter our hearts–ones that we keep hidden.
We are riddled with scars and we are filled with stories–scars and stories that make us laugh and cry and cringe…and are a part of the beauty of who we are.
