When I first looked at the stitches that held my wrist flesh together, I remember thinking: Well so much for having a pretty arm. At the time, I so disliked my scar that David bought me a diamond bracelet to divert my eyes. Shiny distractions are always good. But when my bracket was off, I would focus on the new mark that was a remembrance of crashing my dirt bike. The original me was not the same.
Behind the seam that runs from my wrist and up my forearm, lies a metal plate and four screws that securely holds my bones in place. With my finger, I trace the scar on my right arm, thinking about other scars—those of my heart. The invisible impressions that left me different. As I ponder my scars, I consider how I’ve changed because of them. Scars make great teachers.
- Initially, I feared more and trusted less. But my scars actually taught me to choose wisely, trust more, and fear less.
- Scars change outcomes and sometimes close doors that weren’t meant to be walked through.
- Scars develop character, that produces endurance, which leads to hope.
- Scars create stories.
You have scars, yeah me too. And they’ve left me forever changed. Hopefully, for the better.