When I was five years old I fell into a fire. Most of my family was at my mamaw and papaw’s house in rural southeastern Oklahoma. We had built a fire out in front of the property. When the adults had retreated back towards the house, my older brothers and male cousins began jumping over the fire. It was exciting to see them run and jump with the flames seemingly engulfing their legs. I thought I could do this too, so I took off, and tripped and landed in the fire on my knees. I remember just sitting there, in shock. My cousin Ricky grabbed me and ran to the house. My mamaw and mom put me in the large farm sink in the kitchen and hosed down my legs. Then I could feel the pain and I started to cry. Every time I look at the two scars on my knee, I remember what happened. Since then, I have added a plethora of scars to my body. I doubt anyone can live a truly full life without some. Each one of those scars tells a story. And here’s where I tore my ACL playing powder puff football, and here’s where I had chicken pox, and here’s where…you know how it goes.
Not long after I met my dear friend Darbi, she shared with me how her daughter Darien did not like the scars she had on her body. She was born with a hip dysplasia and had a major surgery when she was just a baby. She was facing another one soon and was only about nine years old. She thought the scars were ugly and wasn’t looking forward to getting more. They were also painful. I knew I couldn’t do anything about the pain in those scars that might be physical, but I was sure going to try and ease the emotional part. So the next time I was at her house, I asked her to show me her scar. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but she did. I told her that was the coolest thing I had ever seen and I wish I had one like it. I said if I had a scar like that I’d tell people I’d been attacked by a shark! She smiled and I’m sure she thought I was ridiculous. I started calling her Shark Bite, and I would yell it out while holding up my arm and snap my fingers to my thumb like I was a shark munching something, at all the sporting events she played in.
My pastor’s son just got stitches by his eye. I told him that’s just another story you can share. He said he just cut it on some tin at their dog pen. I said, you might want to make the story juicier than that. (No, I don’t advocate lying!) It made me think of all the other scars I have seen in my life. It also reminded me that our Savior bares some scars of His own. His scars tell the greatest story of all and His story needs nothing extra added to it. Jesus came here, suffered and died for us. His sacrifice made it possible for us to receive forgiveness. The entire book of Hebrews teaches us about how Jesus Himself replaced the offerings of old. In chapter 10, verse 10, it says, “By this will, we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once and for all.” He bares the scars of His offering. After the Lord had been resurrected and many of the disciples had seen Him, the disciple Thomas had trouble believing it. “So the other disciples kept telling him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “If I don’t see the mark of the nails in His hands, put my finger into the mark of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will never believe!” After eight days His disciples were indoors again, and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them. He said, “Peace to you!” Then He said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and observe My hands. Reach out your hand and put it into My side. Don’t be an unbeliever, but a believer.” Thomas responded to Him, “My Lord and my God!” John 20:25-28
Those scars made it possible for my salvation. Possible for my relationship with Him. Possible to make it through this life. Possible for me to be with my saved loved ones in glory one day. Possible, possible, possible. All things are possible because of those scars. Thank you dear Jesus! Don’t be an unbeliever, but a believer.
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