As an author, I write characters with wounds and scars. Often those occurred in childhood, they are usually invisible, and they resulted in a lie (or lies) the character believes that affects his or her actions in adulthood.
Just like real life.
I’m sure I have wounds that have influenced some of my negative self-talk over the years, but I have one physical scar that reminds me of a favorite memory.
The scar is a two-inch mark on my knee caused when I was running on a hilly, gravel driveway and fell. I got a deep cut on my knee but my parents had little money and, I suppose now, no insurance. They opted not to take me to a doctor but instead bandaged my knee and told me not to bend it for the next few weeks.
Walking without bending your knee is not easy, especially for a six-year-old child. The lack of medical care may seem harsh, and you wonder why this is a good memory for me. Obviously, the injury and the treatment were not enjoyable and aren’t fond memories. It was what happened afterward that I remember and cherish.
A few days after my fall was the scheduled day for the Bookmobile to stop at the end of the road where we lived. Even at that young age, I was a book addict. No way did I want to miss the Bookmobile visit. (For those of you unfamiliar with Bookmobiles, it was a mini-library in a small van or bus that brought books to those of us who might live too far from the physical library.) The end of the road seemed a long way from our house–especially to a little girl with short legs and orders not to bend one knee.
So my six-foot-tall Daddy took my hand and walked with me to meet the Bookmobile. I’m sure we went for other walks, but this is the one that stands out in my mind.
That’s why I cherish the scar on my knee.
In the same way, my heavenly Father “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3, ESV). The scars from those wounds that He has healed can’t be seen, but I cherish them as well. I love that He takes my hand and walks with me all the way to the end of the road.
