Scars

The other day, someone was talking about a little girl she knows who has a chronic illness. This person went on, and then turned to me and said "But it's worse then yours, you're fairly normal." My heart ached. Having to worry constantly about hypoglycemia or whatever, is that normal? Or my extreme diet restrictions? Or, or, I know, what about the tube hooked up to me, the one that forces food into the hole in my stomach? Or my scars, are those normal? You're right, though, I do 'look' fairly normal to the average Joe. But I am sick, I am scarred, and I am scared, and I am handling far too much for a girl of only 15. I may look fine, but I'm not, I'm sick, and looking normal doesn't change the scars that have formed on the inside. I'm still chronically ill, still sick and still scared and still scarred. When I got home that night, and finally got around to picking up paperdoll (The wonderful pink present by an equally wonderful Natalie Lloyd) the day's chapter was on scars. I loved it, identified with it. And then I came to the last page, the last sentance. It was underlined, with a black swirly heart beside it. Tears filled my eyes. The sentance? "Suddenly, they were beautiful." My scars... beautiful. My long, winding scars on the inside, and the small ones on the outside...beautiful. Why, and how did my scars suddenly become beautiful? Jesus kept His scars for me. In His new, perfect body after He was raised back to life, He still bore his scars. It's not my scars that define me, but His. So I'll let the comments made by people who don't, and can't, understand slide off. I wear these scars, and they are a symbol of bravery, of courage and of all these fights I've fought, and won. I'll wear my scars, because it's not my scars that define me, but His.