If I had only known the last time would be the last time
I would've put off all the things I had to do
I would've stayed a little longer, held on a little tighter
Now what I'd give for one more day with you
'Cause there's a wound here in my heart where something's missing
And they tell me that it's gonna heal with time
But I know you're in a place where all your wounds have been erased
And knowing yours are healed is healing mine
Scars. I see them everyday as a nurse, and I've never found one that doesn't have some sort of story behind it. Scars paint a picture of who we are and the paths that have led us there. Just this past week my dad tore his ACL and meniscus and needed knee surgery. After it was over, he came back with a fresh scar marking his poor swollen leg. This is a physical scar and one that he will one day barely remember is there. Yet some scars are much more vivid and impactful. The very day after my dad's surgery he received the news that my Grandpa had passed away. This news brought a totally different kind of scar, but it left its own mark on his and all of our hearts. Death never gets easier. Even as you grow older, and it becomes an expectation and reality, the bitter pain of loss still leaves an imprint that will never quite fade away.
A hurt that no one else can see. There is something uniquely difficult about the ache this brings. As much as we may draw away from our scars, they are an open reminder to those around us that we ARE battling some type of hurt. I think this is part of the reason why God gives us scars. Having pain that we can hide is something we were never made to bear.
I remember so vividly the first time I saw my own scar after my scoliosis surgery. I did an immediate double take, blinking back tears as I gazed for the first time at the physical expression of my bodily and emotional pain. My initial response was to shrink from my scar in fear and disgust. Who was this broken girl standing in front of me? Could anyone ever love a girl with an ugly scar running down the length of her back? Surely no one could see past the sign of the twisted healing that had occurred. My scar served as a bitter reminder of how helpless I was, weaving a web of doubt and anxious questions in my heart.
Aren't scars a sign of imperfection? An expression of brokenness? A manifestation of weakness? It wasn't until I read John 20:27 that I realized the beauty and intentionality in these markings. In that passage, Jesus met Thomas in the midst of a sea of doubt. What was it that caused Thomas to believe? Jesus "said to Thomas,
'Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.'" It wasn't until Thomas felt the marks on His Savior's body and saw the scars with his own eyes that he was freed from doubt and fear. These wounds were a blessed assurance and tangible sign of the unbelievable reality of the salvation Jesus had accomplished. They signified and confirmed the sacrifice and served as a beautiful reminder of the precious promise that had been fulfilled.
C.S. Lewis writes that Christ, “willingly took on a body and entered into every form of physical and emotional anguish you would ever experience, taking on scars He would wear for all eternity, so he could extend comfort and grace to you in your times of need.” We don't have a high priest who is unable. to sympathize with us. He knows what it is to feel pain, and He knows what it is to bear the marks of that pain. The holes in Jesus' hands and the wound in His side speak volumes about His overwhelming love for us and His willingness to meet us in the middle of our sin and pain, bearing it upon Himself. What a precious, precious gift this is!!
I know the road you walked was anything but easy
You picked up your share of scars along the way
Oh, but now you're standing in the sun, you've fought your fight and your race is run
The pain is all a million miles away
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, for the hands that hold you now
Grandpa, the evening I found out that you had passed away I felt an overwhelming sense of peace in the midst of the pain of loss. I already miss your open smile, your contagious laughter, and your love for your children and grandchildren. Your heart was so full, and you supported your family physically and spiritually throughout your entire life. I won't ever forget our crazy games of Wii tennis, our walks in the park, days at the beach, and the last visit I had with you eating pastries, looking at family pictures and sipping coffee together. Of course the best gift you have ever given me was my Dad, and I see many of your greatest qualities reflected in his life each and every day! As I thought over these bittersweet memories, I knew without a doubt you are finally in Heaven. You are gone, but so is your pain, so are your scars, and so is your separation from the scarred hands which hold you now.
Broken, but beautiful. Shattered but restored. Defeated but redeemed. There
are scars in Heaven, but they won't belong to us. During this life our scars serve as a gentle reminder of God's faithfulness in the midst of our pain. Now when I look at my scar, I see a tangible sign of God's overwhelming love for me and the beauty of His healing. Paul writes about this in 2 Corinthians 12 saying, “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me...For when I am weak, then I am strong." As I think over the scars this past week has brought, I am holding fast to this precious promise. God is in control, and I believe He has a perfect plan and purpose for every scar He brings into our lives.
The only scars in Heaven, they won't belong to me and you
There'll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new
And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down
Is that the only scars in Heaven are on the hands that hold you now
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