The Scar…A Lesson Learned

“God won’t look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas, but for scars.” Elbert Hubbard

The Collision was violent. The bodies of two women lay sprawled upon the grass, writhing in pain. Bikes, twisted and scattered, lay in a disorderly array. Another body lay unconscious, his pooling blood a crimson contrast upon the sidewalk’s white concrete. That’d be me!

Like most, this accident was unintended, the consequence of speed, stupidity and insufficient sagacity. All were to blame. Fortunately the wounds were not unto death…this time. The women gathered their twisted metal and skulked away. Onlookers gawked as the EMTs hoisted my bloody body into the ambulance. Today only a knee scar remains. The lesson learned? Never have a run-in with two women at the same time!

Funny thing about scars…we all have them. Examine your body, and your mind, you’ll find a bunch of ‘em. What’s more, scars are better than old photos…we remember the details as if they happened yesterday. At last count I had 21 scars of various sizes and shapes. I remember the details of each one. How many do you have?

Take the pencil lead in my palm, for example. I sat behind a girl in a high school class. One day she wore a dress that tied in the back. I tied it to the desk, winking to my pals, waiting for the bell to ring. It did. She jumped up, along with the desk. We laughed uncontrollably. She was mortified. Like a woman scorned, she grasped her pencil as a dagger, attacking me viciously, stabbing my palm in revenge. Lesson here? Women with daggers are dangerous.

I had a friend who had no body hair as a youth. Body hair for boys was a big deal growing up…it signaled maturation. He was teased unmercifully as being a freak. He finally found a way to overcome nature’s unfortunate twist by the motto, “Hair won’t grow on steel.” He later became a stud, played football at Vandy. Lesson here? Don’t mess with a man with no body hair.

Scars are like badges…they let us know we’ve lived. Most physical scars ultimately heal, leaving us with another memory of the past. It’s fun to reminisce and recall the incidents. Over time scars take on a new life, a life of hyperbole and embellishment superior to photographs. The stories, like wine, just get better with age. Lesson here? Life’s the stage, you’re the actor…rebuttal is impossible.

We have mental scars, too. Some of these linger long past their appointed healing process. We harbor these scars inside us, telling ourselves it’s who we are. It’s like dragging around a huge bag of garbage. I did that once…dragging around a bag of mental rubbish. A wise friend recognized the scar and suggested, “Why lug all that refuse around? Dump the mental trash of the past and move on.” I did, never looked back. Lesson here? Nobody wants to be around your stinky landfill.

Some scars are hideous. Scars against humanity, like Auschwitz, Hiroshima, Normandy, World Trade Center, Gettysburg, for example. These ugly scars have been transformed from their horror to the redemption of humanity. Some scars always need to be visible.

People disguise scars. It’s easy. We dress ‘em up in garish outfits, like circus clowns, with the costumes of cars, houses, apparel, and jobs. But they’re still scars, and they’ll remain scars until they are disrobed and seen for what they are. Then the stigma quickly disappears. Lesson here? Prison doors open to the sunlight.

Alas, the scars of heartbreak may be the toughest to heal. Each has their own heartbreaks. Maybe it’s comforting to keep some of these wounds. My wife reminds me that “we’re only as happy as our unhappiest child.” Lesson? I really don’t know!

But I know this: some scars are prisons and can only be healed by Forgiveness...a Healing of the Memories. Forgiveness of self, forgiveness of others, all the time. It’s the key that unlocks the prison doors and sets the prisoner free.

Funny thing about scars…we all have ‘em. Show me yours, I’ll show you mine…and together we’ll move on from here (who the hell is Elbert Hubbard anyway?)

Bud Hearn
July 8, 2010