Scars

We’ve all heard the old adage, “Timing is everything.” We often get ahead of ourselves, or impatient, and want things to happen right now. But, when everything comes together in God’s perfect timing, amazing things happen – both for us and those who surround us. For me, impatience is generally the result of not knowing. I never mind waiting if I know what is coming…but then faith wouldn’t be necessary, and Hebrews 11:6 is very clear that without faith, it is impossible to please God. And I want to please God.

Nearly a year ago, I stepped foot into a therapist’s office. Years of struggling with pain and chronic conditions had left me feeling defeated. I walked in carrying quite the load. My pack was filled with childhood abuses, shame, fear, unresolved hurts from a divorce twenty years ago, emotional wounds that had never healed, along with physical wounds that refused to heal. I had done a lot of work before I ever stepped foot in her office – overcoming addictions, self-discovery, etc. – but I didn’t realize the amount of work still left to do. I couldn’t even see half of the emothional baggage that I had stuffed in my pack, it was buried so far beneath shame. On day one, I sat on her comfortable gray couch, and took the room in. She didn’t use the overhead lighting, but had a soft lamp in the corner of the room. It was cozy, with a throw blanket on the corner of the couch, fresh tea and coffee ready to be made…it felt like walking into a friends living room. The first thing I noticed on the wall was a giant metal tree, with roots that extended well below the lofty trunk. I had seen that very tree at Hobby Lobby just weeks before. It reminded me of the logo for my church when I saw it the first time, and when I saw it that first day in Clare’s office, it was almost like a little confirmation. The second thing I noticed was a painting, or perhaps a canvas print, on the wall, directly behind the oversized chair that she occupied. It seemed out of place. It appeared to be a gladiator, with a sword in one hand, shield in the other, gazing down into what looked like a hole in the earth. It looked like something you might see on the cover of a comic book. I spent months looking at that painting, not knowing that it held the key to change.

Three months ago, I walked into Clare’s office and the overhead, fluorescent lights were on. I took my usual seat on the corner of the couch, picked up the bottle of water that was always waiting on the side table, and settled in. When I looked up, the painting caught my eye. With the lights on, I could see that the canvas behind Clare wasn’t a picture of a gladiator, it wasn’t even a man. It was a child, a young boy. In his right hand was a sword, but in his left hand, the thing I thought was a shield for so many months, was actually a rope. Tied around his neck was a cape, blowing in the breeze. His pant legs were rolled up, like a child who is ready to wade in the creek on a hot summer’s day. I was blown away. All this time, I thought this boy was a man, a strong gladiator touting over his latest conquest. But with the right light shone on him, it was so clear that he was just a boy, starring into his past, ready to defeat whatever lurked in the darkness below.

I immediately asked Clare about the canvas. She told me that the picture was actually the cover from a book written by an artist she really liked. We chatted about it for awhile, and then she told me that she had received a few copies of the book when she purchased the canvas, and she offered me a copy. As we walked out of her office that day, we went to a bookshelf where several copies of the book sat. #FEARHUNTERS was in big letters on the cover, beneath the image of the boy. The author’s name, Noah Elias, was written at the bottom. She offered me a few copies and I walked out with an armload of books. When I offered them to a few friends, one suggested a book club. And the journey began!

I will tell you that when I first took the book, I thought, “What could an artist possibly have to speak into my life? And fearhunter…I don’t really struggle with fear.” But, the idea of getting together with a few women every week sounded good to me. I also love to read, specifically books about self-improvement, so we set our first meeting. What has happened over the last three months has been life-changing. I don’t say that lightly. Here is the thing: if I had read that book a year ago, when I first saw the image of the gladiator hanging on the wall, it could not have been effective. There was still so much weeding to do in the garden of my heart. It was only after the light revealed truth that I could receive that book. God knew that, and placed that book in my hands at the exact right time – when it could have the maximum affect on my life, and the maximum effect in the Kingdom.

The book is perfectly formatted for a book club. Each chapter ends with several questions, or as the author calls them, “#HUNTING TARGETS”. Noah takes you to a deep place, and then calls you to action. Now that I have completed the book, I feel like I can stand next to the boy, sword in one hand, rope in the other. I can look down into a deep hole where my past – that once had dominion over me, making decisions for me, speaking lies into every aspect of my life – is buried. The day I realized the boy was carrying a rope, I thought to myself, “Why the rope?” Now I realize that in order to overcome some things, you may have to crawl down into the pit that contains your past to face some things, and the rope will help you climb out when you’ve conquered the fear, and all of the things that fear breeds.

My daughter played a song for me awhile back by the Christian band, I Am They. The song is titled “Scars”, and it has recently become my anthem.

“Waking up to a new sunrise, looking back from the other side; I can see now with open eyes, Darkest water and deepest pain. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Cause my brokenness brought me to you, and these wounds are a story you’ll use. So I’m thankful for the scars…

I Am They

Scar, as defined by www.thefreedictionary.com, is “a mark left on the skin after a surface injury or wound has healed; A lingering sign of damage or injury, either mental or physical: nightmares, anxiety, and other enduring scars of wartime experiences.” Not all scars can be seen. God is willing to use our scars, those lingering signs of damage, if we turn them over to Him. He will take what is broken within us, pull us out of our proverbial Egypt, walk with us through our wilderness, and usher us into our purpose and mission.

I have this scar on my left index finger. Twenty years ago, I was peeling apples for a church bake sale. The pastor came in with a package of knives, warning all of us that they were very sharp. I picked the red one up and began to slice away. It wasn’t long before the knife caught the top of my index finger, slicing deep into the flesh. I had heard him when he said the knives were sharp, but I was careless, having gotten carried away by conversation. It is possible to hear someone and not heed the advice they offer, especially when we get carried away with the cares of life. Romans 1:28 speaks of people who failed to retain God in their knowledge. That was what I had done, failed to retain the wisdom of a man of God. That scar reminds me to hear the man of God that is set over me, to heed the advice that he offers, and to retain the wisdom in my knowledge.

On my right forearm, there is a slight discoloration of the skin where a scar has faded. When I was about nine-years-old, I burned myself with an iron. Last year, while my then- nine-year-old daughter was creating with perler beads, she reached across the iron and burned herself, in the exact spot that I had burned myself so many years ago. Revelation 12:11 tells us that you overcome by the blood of the lamb, and by the word of your testimony. When I see the scar on her arm, it reminds me that I need to share my suffering, because it may help others avoid enduring the same pain I have encountered. I will overcome by telling my story, in my testimony I will find victory.

Along my mid-section, where seventeen staples once held my body together, I have a long scar. My first child came via c-section, and just a little over a year later, that scar was cut back open for the birth of my daughter. Isaiah 61:3 speaks of beauty for ashes, joy in place of mourning, and praise rather than despair. That scar reminds me that some really amazing things are born out of incredible pain.

On my left breast I have a scar that extends downward like a crescent moon, and ends in an open wound. Over two years ago, I had surgery as a result of chronic mastitis that had infiltrated my ducts. I was in constant pain for months when the condition first came on. There were times that I was unable to do my usual duties as a mother or a business owner. So, I had to learn to ask for help. For a declared self-sufficient woman, that was no easy task. The battle to humble myself, the internal breaking that had to come so that I could allow others to help me with tasks I felt like I should have been able to do, led me on a difficult path for quite some time. The surgery came after battling for over sixteen months with re-occurring mastitis. While most of the incision has healed, there is still a small, open wound (a seroma) that has to be covered every day, and cleaned every night. That scar reminds me that it is okay, even good sometimes, to ask for help. It has also taught me that healing doesn’t happen in my time, in the way I think it should.

During the course of my battle with chronic, granulomatous mastitis, I felt like I was feuding with my body. It is a strange thing when your body attacks itself. My only physical recourse was antibiotics, which I took – and then those, too attacked my body. I developed an allergy to three major antibiotics leaving me very limited in what I could take. I became frustrated, sad, angry, and in the end I just felt defeated. I gave up, and just stopped caring for myself, for the open wound that plagued me. I had planned a much-needed, post-tax season vacation for my family. We were set to go to a beautiful resort in Phoenix, AZ, and my kids were eagerly anticipating their first flight. I knew that my breast was infected again, but I just didn’t care. I ignored all of the warning signs, until the swelling and pain were more than I could handle, and I went to the ER. I expected, just like every other time, that they would aspirate the wound, then send me on my way with a bottle of antibiotics. So, when the doctor told me they were admitting me and treating me for sepsis, I got a little nervous. They pumped my vein full of antibiotics, and I immediately began to have a reaction. So, they had to counter with an allergy medication. As they wheeled me up to the hospital room, I was alone, and I was afraid. And I knew that it was my fault. We ended up having to cancel our vacation, and I spent several days in the hospital. There is a small, dark scar on my right arm where they injected me with the antibiotics that my body rejected. That small scar reminds me that I have to care for myself. Even when my body doesn’t do what I want it to do, or it takes too long to heal. I am reminded that it’s not my time, that I am not in control of everything. I have to do my part and leave the rest in the hands of a capable, loving God.

Just a few weeks ago, I walked into a surgery center in Folsom, CA. I got a call just 7 days before telling me there was a cancellation, and the surgeon could squeeze me in for a surgery I had been on the waiting list for. Six months I had waited for that call, and even though I was going to have to clear my schedule, cancel vacation plans, and work afterwords though the pain, I seized the opportunity. Three years ago, I began feeling pain in my lower, left abdomen. After being misdiagnosed, mocked, put on anti-depressants (which I never took), and going through several doctors, I finally got the imaging I needed to diagnose abdominal wall endometriosis, which is pretty rare. Nearly a year after the MRI, I walked into that surgery center, ready to be free of the incredible pain that had wreaked havoc on my body, my mind, my life for three years. As ready as I was to have the surgery, I was unprepared for the recovery, having always bounced back from surgery relatively quickly. I could not stand up from a sitting position, I could hardly move. I spent two weeks in a chair, moving very little. It was after the surgery, when I spoke to my doctor that I found out that no one had believed me. He performed the surgery because they did see something in my abdomen, but neither of my surgeons actually believed they would find endometriosis. In fact, he actually wrote on the tissue sample they sent to the lab, “rule out endometriosis.” When the pathology report came back and read “endometriosis”, they were all a little surprised. It has been almost a month since my surgery, and the recovery has not been textbook. I developed an infection, as well as several seromas along the incision – the same issue I had after my previous surgery. It has been over two years since the seroma on my breast arrived…and the thought of going two years with seromas on another incision sight is more that I can bear alone.

The scar from this most recent surgery has taught me to be still (Ps. 46:10). It has reminded me that there is no shame in asking for help, and allowing others to bless you. While sitting in my chair for two weeks, I developed a website and launched a new business – the scar tells me to build something while you wait. And finally, I am confronted with the realization that sometimes, you cannot do it alone. Sometimes, you have to rally the troops and ask them to fight with you, or to fight for you because you’re too weak to fight at all. Victory might not come the way I expect it. Just like the gladiator-turned-boy. What seemed like a proud victor turned out to be a humble child, who had not conquered someone else, but had conquered the battle of his mind, the ever-present voices from his past.

Today, I am thankful for the scars. I am thankful for the incredibly accurate timing of God. I am thankful that a man named Noah went to some dark places, fought some difficult battles, and went on to write about it, paving the way for others to find healing. I am thankful that God sent me to Clare to place that book in my hand. I am most thankful for those who love me, who have rallied around me, prayed for me, and are currently fighting a battle that I feel too overwhelmed to fight. My God has had his hand on me every step of the way. My worst-case scenario could be my greatest victory. In the words of I Am They, “Now I’m standing in confidence/With the strength of Your faithfulness/And I’m not who I was before/No, I don’t have to fear anymore.”