I sliced my forearm with a box cutter. I worked for HyVee grocery in Shenandoah, Iowa, while I was in high school. You can still see the scar on my forearm today. I remember the incident, but not the pain or the blood. But the scar remains.
I read a wonderful blog post recently by a survivor of a severe eating disorder. She shared something in her post I thought was inspiring. We all (I’m paraphrasing) have scars from the pile of dead, broken bones of our shattered lives (Ezekiel 37). We either have scars from wounds that have healed, or we have wounds that have not healed yet.
Either way, sharing our scars is a courageous, selfless transparent testimony to the power of God in our lives.
Sharing our scars does two important things: 1) Sharing our scars helps us heal. Don’t ask me how. I just know it does. 2) Sharing our scars helps heal and encourage others. There’s never been a sharing-our-scars post ever written in the history of the blogosphere for which at least one reader agreed, “I know how you feel!” Or “I’ve been where you are.” Or, “Wow, I’m not alone after all.” And found a at least measure of encouragement reading about someone sharing their scars.
Indeed, this is our boast, the testimony of our conscience: we have behaved in the world with frankness and godly sincerity [honesty and transparency], not by earthly wisdom but by the grace of God—and all the more toward you. 2 Corinthians 1:12