Wednesday, January 11, 2012


1988. Playing baseball with garden tools in the front yard. (genius, huh?)I am the youngest of four, a title that holds beauty and pain all at the same time, so of course, I was the catcher. Strike one- I was out. Garden hoe to the lip.

1990. I am in front of our hometown hospital, walking along the brick entry way, waiting for my dad to get out of surgery. My brother tells me to be careful, I tell him to shut up, BAM. Busted knee.

1991. Breckenridge, Co. Leaning back in a barstool. My mother tells me not to. I do anyway, cause of course, I know better, and BAM. Busted chin.

1991. Eufaula, America. Cousins reunion. My sister sat and squished my club crackers. I got pissed off cause no one was disciplining her, and ran out of the door. Funny thing, those doors with hydrolicks (sp). BAM- busted eyebrow.

April 2001. Back surgery. Scar from neck to hip, over to other hip. Yes- this too was an accident of stupidity, and almost cost me my mobility.

October 2008/March 2010. Two of my most favorite scars. My csections scars from the births of my beautiful boys.

We all have stories to tell. Scars that reflect where we have been, and what we've learned. Battle wounds of a sort. Some are visible. Some aren't. Some are external, some are internal, but both are the same. No matter how much motivation you have, a scar is a scar, and will not disappear. They are there forever. To remind you of a hard lesson learned, or remind you of when your heart was broken. They may not be equal in form, but they all have a story to tell if you'll let them.

I love my scars and would never attempt to cover up one of them. It's just the beginning of my story. I will continue to get them. I will continue to make mistakes in my life. Every day. I probably don't and won't handle things the way people would like for them to be handled. But you know what? It's MY scar. Inside or out, it's fate is in my hands. I'm in charge of me, and you are in charge of you.

My three year old understands this, and he still poops his pants.

Be conscious. Be thoughtful. Lift one another up, don't have eyes like daggers. It takes so much more energy to hate than it does to love. You just don't know what the story is behind the scar of another.

Be kind. If not for any other reason, let it be because you never know the story a scar of another may tell if you let it. It may represent something completely different than what you first assumed. It may change your life.

Remember that Jesus guy?


  1. You did forget the one in your knee from when Maggie, you, and I were running around the staircase upstairs and you fell in to the glass cabinet and had to go get stitches at MRMC.

  2. I actually didn't stitches that time... but i have a scar. lol.