Scars

In church yesterday, we sang some of my FAVORITE songs. One of them was “I will Rise.”

“And I will rise when He calls my name, No more sorrow, no more pain”

As we sat there and sang, my thoughts ran to my sweet little girl. While she is doing SO much better, her pain is fresh in my minds. If you look at her little hands, feet, and arms, you’ll see more bruises and marks than you can count that attest to the pain she has endured in her four days in the hospital, which included 4 attempts at an IV, and daily lab draws that took at least two to three attempts each.

And as I thought of her scars and bruises, I closed my eyes and could just picture Jesus. Picture him appearing to his disciples on that miraculous third day we were celebrating. Of Him showing Thomas his scars and bruises, proof that He was who He claimed to be.

As a mom, it hurt my heart to allow those nurses to “stick” my baby. It hurt me even more to have to hold her down and look in her eyes as she begged me with those sweet eyes to make them stop.

But… those eyes were dry. Because she was sick and desperately needed to get better. I allowed her pain because I knew, even thought she didn’t, that it was for her good.

Jesus…. he knew. He knew what He was getting himself into. And He was perfect. He didn’t *need* to put himself through the horrific pain.

He loved us enough to bear the scars of our pain on himself, so we didn’t have to. Because he knew it was for OUR good.

Scars tell a story. Annabelle has hers… both in little ones that will fade and some large ones she will bear with for life, that show how much of a fighter she is and how much God has brought her through. Jesus has his, that show his endless love for us.

Yup, our scars tell a story. A pretty important one at that.