Often when holidays roll around, I find myself pretty ambivalent towards celebrating.  I have grown jaded and frustrated with the commercialization of some of the most sacred days on the “Christian” calendar.  So when Easter drew near, I began to dread the ever-present chocolate ads and clucking bunnies.  But something happened that refocused my attention on the purpose of the holiday.

I have some very good friends who take good care of me.  They pray for me, guide me, feed me, and love me, and just before Easter one of my beautiful friends was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She is the picture of health.  She is fit, she eats right, doesn’t smoke, or really do anything unhealthy.  In short, she doesn’t “deserve” to have breast cancer.

And as usually happens in these situations, there are far more questions than answers, but they all seem to boil down to “why.”  It is probably the most infamous yet unanswered question of all time.  My Grandpa O used to tease me for “asking so many ‘whyfor’s’ and ‘how comes’.”  My students continuously hound me with “why.”  And I would imagine that if we could hear all the questions tossed at God, I would wager that “why” is the most oft repeated.

The challenge of the question “why” is that if we are patient enough, we will find the answer on our own.  “Why” has a habit of revealing itself slowly, gradually AFTER it is asked.  Sometimes “why” shows up relatively quickly, but most often (in my experience) “why” takes his own sweet time.  And after my friend’s diagnosis, “why” lay awake with me one night reflecting on the answer I have discovered.

Those of you familiar with my blog are familiar with some of my health difficulties and have heard the story of my cancer scare.  One night after learning about my friend, I lay awake revisiting that four-month ordeal and remembering all the questions I asked.  “Why” popped up several on several occasions in that time of trouble, but as I look now at the scars that remain, “why” has been answered.

Every one has scars. Some are emotional, some psychological, some physical…but everyone has some.  They help tell the tales of our lives.  My scars tell the tale of how God tore me down to build me back up stronger.  My dad, Pops, was a builder, a mason to be specific, and Pops had an eye for quality.  I remember on one occasion, I had worked with a couple of guys to build a brick wall on a building.  Pops stopped by to check on the work and see if we needed any materials.  As he walked by the wall, he noticed some imperfection…some near-fatal flaw that almost no one else would have noticed.  As it stood, the wall probably would have been fine for several years, that imperfection hidden by the other strengths of the wall, but Pops knew that eventually that flaw would cause the wall to crumble.  We spent the rest of the day tearing that wall down, fixing the flaw, and rebuilding the wall.  When we were finished, we knew that wall would stand for a very, very long time.

It sucks to have to undo the work we have already done.  Sometimes we don’t want to have to do the work it takes to rebuild something to make it better, but we are so blessed to have a God who isn’t afraid to make us do the hard work.  And we are so blessed to have a Savior and role model who has already been through the hard work of rebuilding and has the scars to prove it.

Luke 22:39-44 Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. 40 On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” 41 He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, 42 “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” 43 An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. 44 And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. 

As we celebrated Easter yesterday, we celebrated a Savior who struggled, who hurt, who bled, who hung on a cross, who died, who rose, who asked “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34), and has the scars to show for it.

I have grown thankful for my scars.  To me they mean that God found something in me worth tearing down to rebuild better.  I feel closer to God, closer to Jesus now than if I had never been torn down…because I know that I was rebuilt by the hands of the same Craftsman who rebuilt my Savior.  And I find that when I look at my scars, I no longer ask “why,” but say “thank you.”

I pray for anyone with scars…may your “whys” someday be answered.

I pray for anyone who doesn’t have any scars…that someday…when you receive them, you have the courage to ask “why” and the patience to wait…

I pray for my friend…

And I give thanks for my scars and what they have come to mean to me.

Celebrating the One with the BEST scars…

One Love
One God
One Way



~ by archangel66 on April 1, 2013.

One Response to “Scars…”

  1. Thank you very much for sharing your testimony and experiences. I love the images you’ve captured! God’s beauty is breathtaking, isn’t it? I will be using your “hands” image on my blog. Swing by at! Thank you again, Jason.


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