All Grown Up with lots of Scars

Despite my genuine desrie to let them go, many layers of my childhood have hung on to me like an uncomfortable coat, hindering rather than protecting.

Even though the sting might have been removed, the scars remained, staring me in the face day in and day out. I simply could not let go the pain.

One of my very first memories is of the day I went to my first costume party. I vividly recall my conversation I had with another other little girl, while sitting on a carpeted staircase in the hallway.

“What are you disguised at?” she asked innocently.

I instantly shriveled all the way down to nothing on the inside.

She could not tell what I was disguised at. She could not tell who I was.

I wasn’t anyone real.

I was a nobody.

This happened over fifty years ago, yet I can still feel my cheeks turning hot and the shame filling me; I wished  the stairs could swallow me up.

 

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For twelve long years, I held on to the shame.

Childish? Yep.  Yet as real as can be.

It took the Lord Jesus giving me a new identity for me to let go the humiliation.

It took His love convincing me that I was not a nobody.

The message of the costume party lost its power.

No more power to make me feel inferior, no more power to make me feel powerless and immaterial.

And so it was with many, many childhood experiences and memories. Layer by layer, Jesus caused them to lose their power over me.

My mom, she raised me the best she knew how, amidst her own insecurities and skewed perceptions.

My dad, he loved me the best he knew how, amidst his own limiting beliefs and hindered potential.

And Jesus became my knight in shining armor, powerfully rescuing me from it all.

But this wonderful, kind Jesus, He did not remove the scars.

And at first, these scars, they still had a loud voice.

They spoke of how my future would be tough. They said that I wasn’t going to make it. I might not be a nobody anymore, but I still wasn’t all that and a bag of chips, you know?

And as the years went on, I let Jesus work with my mind and my heart.

I changed, I became softer, I became stronger.

I became confident in Him.

And this  wonderful, kind Jesus, He never removed the scars.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Because these scars, they no longer feel like a heavy chain that I tote around with me wherever I go. They simply serve to remind me where I came from.

These scars, they are part of the fabric of who I am.

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These scars, they keep me humble.

These scars, they tell the story of rescue.

These scars, they say that I was worth rescuing.

When I was a child, I thought like a child, and the scars meant that I was a nobody.

Today, the very same scars empower me to be filtered by love. I am no longer quick to pass judgment on people’s actions.

Because we all have scars, you know.

And many of these beautiful people, they haven’t yet met with their k\Knight in shining armour.

 

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