Known by the Scars

I have a few scars. One is on my left hand, a reminder from when I was in a wreck back in the day. I pulled out in front of a full-sized truck, thinking it was a four-way stop. It was not.

Thankfully, I ended up being okay aside from a deep cut on my hand from the dashboard and being generally stiff and sore the next day from the impact. My scar is a reminder of how God saved me from my own foolishness that day.

I remember that Jesus also has scars. His resurrected and glorified body still had the nail piercings on His hands and feet, as well as the wound in His side. Those were the proofs that it was really and truly Jesus raised from the dead.

But also it’s a way of giving value to all those who have scars of their own. Some are more obvious than others. Some are hidden, but some are in places where we can’t hide them. Some of us are ashamed or embarrassed by our scars.

But scars tell a story where you survived. Scars are the reminder of something that could have killed you but didn’t. Scars are proof of a divine intervention. In a way, when you can wear your scars proudly, you identify with Jesus and His own scars.

Most of all, your scars should remind you that Jesus bore the wounds that gave Him the scars for you and for me. He was wounded for our transgressions, as it says in Isaiah 53. By His stripes, we are healed. He bore what we should have born because of our sins, and we get the rewards of a perfect life that should only belong to Jesus. That’s the great exchange. That’s the gospel.

Scars can be something to hide, like those humiliating moments or shameful parts of the past, or they can be part of your testimony. A pastor once said that true healing is evident when that part of your story that you swore you’d never tell anybody becomes the first line of your testimony.

“Do you know what St. Peter says to everyone who tries to get into heaven?” 

“Peter says, ‘Don’t you have any scars?’ And when most would respond proudly, ‘Well, no, no I don’t,’ Peter says, ‘Why not? Was there nothing worth fighting for?” (Matthew Perry, Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing).

Severe Mercies

I survived a wreck today.

Actually, that makes it sound much worse that it really was.

I was in a three-car fender-bender where the car behind me got hit from behind and ended up bumping into me.

I ended up with a dinged-up bumper and some shaky nerves.

It could have been so much worse.

I often wonder why God allows His people to go through dark valleys of suffering.

I know that the world we live in is broken and all of creation is affected by the fall and original sin. Plus, there’s that little matter of free will.

I also know that sometimes it takes a little pain to get our attention and remind us that our lives are about more than just us and our pleasure.

I believe that there are some precious truths and lessons that can be learned no other way than going through the dark night of the soul.

We find true community when we come together to share each others burdens and be strong for the ones who can’t be strong for themselves.

I still believe that there is no situation any of us will ever go through that is so dire where we cannot discover small blessings and at least something to be thankful for.

The Psalmist said that even in the deepest and darkest valley he would ever walk through, the Shepherd was with him.

There is nothing that will ever come against the child of God that Jesus has not already faced and defeated once and for all on that Cross of Calvary. Nothing.

That means that any trial is temporary and any affliction is fleeing and momentary.

You can survive just about anything if you can see beyond it to something better. Even Jesus endured the cross, knowing the joy that awaited Him on the other side.

Ultimately, I still believe that every day I wake up is grace and everything beyond that is gravy and there are a multitude of blessings and gifts to be found along the way with those who see with eyes of faith.

 

 

Ohhhhhhhh, Fudge– Yet Another Monday Morning in Perspective

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This was one of those kind of Monday mornings that make you want to say, “Ohhhh, fudge.” At least it did for me. And yes, I mean the kind of fudge like in the movie A Christmas Story.

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I was happily rolling along. . . well, at 5:30 am, it was more like sleepily rolling along to work. Then I looked up. It was either an 18-wheeler or large bus coming toward me, hugging the yellow lines. So I did what any red-blooded male would do.

I panicked.

I went to give the behemoth vehicle a wide berth and went too wide. My tires hit the edge of the pavement. It sounded like the whole side of my car was being shredded.

I managed to get to the side of the road. I was expecting to see gory car wreck carnage. Thankfully, all I saw was one fatally punctured tire.

I called AAA because I am mechanically challenged even when it comes to changing a tire. In my defense, those lug-nuts were on that wheel tight.

What was supposed to take 45 minutes or less took almost 1 1/2 hours. So I was late to work.

But after that, it got better. And I have to keep a few things in mind:

I’m sooo glad I had my AAA road service paid up.

I’m thankful I have a car to almost (but thankfully not) wreck.

I’m blessed to have a job to go to even if it occasionally starts at 6 am.

I’m grateful for a very understanding boss.

Most of all, I’m thankful every day that I don’t get what I deserve. I get grace instead.

PS  don’t suppose cussing in your head merits having to wash your mouth out with soap, right?

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