I bet most of us have an epic childhood story in which we suffered a pretty gruesome injury. Mine occurred around my teenage years, during a family camping trip. I ventured out on my bike about the large circular section of the camping site our group usually rented. My exploration along the pebbled road began like all the other times I rode the same route...until my back wheel caught some extra-loose gravel and slid out from under me, hurling me to the ground. My knees absorbed the brunt of my fall and were bloody and encrusted with shards of tiny, jagged rocks. For months, my mom scrubbed and tweezed at my scabs, hoping to prevent the remnants of leftover gravel from permanently embedding into my knees.
The scars remain, and I would not be surprised if another bit or two of rock eventually worked to the surface of my bumpy and discolored skin. Though the years have passed, I am still reminded of that nasty fall and the physical damage it caused. I can recall my accident and remember the pain and how long it took me to trek back to our campsite limping. The elapsed time did nothing for the scars, and I often wonder if I will ever have to scrub my own daughters' knees after a similar injury.
Trauma and disaster can even tarnish our good memories. My family spent plenty of fun-packed summers camping with some great friends. Most of my childhood years involved slurping stew and making s'mores around the campfire; exploring and relishing God's handiwork in the outdoors; and being tossed about the waves on an inner tube behind my dad's beloved boat. One evening, during one of our earlier trips, there was even a hailstorm that pummeled our family's tent. It was soon after that my parents began shopping for a tow-behind trailer, and we felt like Texas royalty because it. had. bunk. beds. You see, I did not always suffer an injury, but the one I did sustain impressed upon my memory some negative emotions.
The immediate camping trip after my fall, and even many subsequent bike rides, brought about anxiety and timidity in me. I was hesitant to resume the activity for fear of another painful outcome. If I fell again, I would endure more pain and acquire more scars. I was doubtful of the Lord's protection over me. I saw the scars I already had for the wounds they covered and not for the healing they represented.
Time's effect on our wounds is not always total healing, though. Physical scars can be sensitive to the touch and prompt in us a recollection of painful events past. Emotional scars can keep us fleeing from relational closeness with those who love us. Both kinds of scars may even keep us guarded and separated from the One who longs for us the most. The walls we build and the boundaries we establish to protect us from the source of hurt can separate us from a gracious Father capable of healing the deepest of wounds and mending the most shattered of hearts.
Jesus's scars are far more powerful than ours. Our scars symbolize defeat, while His boast of victory. His scars tell of a redemptive storyーone of sacrificial and complete, selfless love. His scars remind us that, no matter our missteps or heartache, we are worthy of salvation. That we are important enough to receive redemption and that He sacrificed His life to save ours. That our scarred bodies and bruised hearts are made new in Him. Jesus carried a cross so that we may lay our burdens at His feet. He suffered an excruciating death so that we may live free from our pain.
"'He himself bore our sins' in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; 'by his wounds you have been healed.'"
1 Peter 2:24 (NIV)
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