Scars. You have a few. So do I. When
writing our stories, we’ll almost certainly need to examine one or more of the wounds
that caused our scars.
Keep in mind that a scar is not the same as
a wound.
A wound is an injury, a laceration, a gash,
a blow, a rip. Some are superficial, but some are deep and agonizing.
On the other hand, a scar is “a mark left where
a wound or injury or sore has healed” (Oxford American Dictionary; emphasis
mine).
Read that again: a scar is what you have
left after healing has taken place. After the bleeding has stopped. After the
scab has fallen off.
A scar is evidence of healing.
When we think of a scar, we think of
something damaged, defective. We think of disfigurement and impairment. But also,
don’t you think it’s good to recognize that a scar is something that has healed?
Think of your scar as an emblem declaring
you’ve been repaired, a symbol of surviving, evidence that your wounds have
been mended. You’ve been restored to good health.
And that’s why I ask: If your scars could
talk, what stories would they tell?
Something or someone maimed you, leaving you
blemished, flawed, maybe even deformed—maybe in little ways, or maybe in
massive ways.
Some visible on the outside, some hidden
inside.
Did you know that if you pinch a
butterfly’s wings, she’s unable to navigate properly afterwards? You know what
that’s like, don’t you? Bruises and defects can leave us reeling and stumbling.
Sometimes, even worse, our wounds can leave us immobilized, broken down.
Most of us can get pretty creative in
finding ways to keep our wounds and scars secret, hidden away. But a good
memoirist will not stay stuck there.
A good memoirist will invite God
to stand alongside
and help peel back layers,
dig deeply,
get out a magnifying glass,
and discover the deeper, broader story.
A good memoirist will make time
to examine the chapter of his life
in which God used wounds
to turn his story a different
and better direction.
That reminds me of Bev Murrill’s words
about Romans 8:28, “Paul said all things work together for good for people who
love the Lord and are called according to His purposes. That doesn’t mean what
happened is good, but that God can use even the most terrible things if we will
let Him treat the wounds and heal them” (emphasis mine).
C.S. Lewis said, “Hardships often prepare
ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” Your job as a memoirist is to look back and discover that extraordinary destiny God has been working out for you—a
destiny you couldn’t have experienced if it weren’t for your hardship, your
wound. You have the scar to prove it.
For the next few days, search for answers
to Thornton Wilder’s question: “Without your wounds where would you be?”
Then sit down in front of your computer
screen, or get out your pen and paper, and write about the ways God tended and
mended your wounds. How did He transform your wounds into scars?
Who and what did
God use to bring healing? Maybe a doctor, a counselor, medicine. Or perhaps the
Bible, a book, prayer, a strategically placed friend or relative. Possibly time
and distance helped. Maybe writing or journaling made a difference in your
healing process. God has many ways of turning wounds into scars.
Bev Murrill says God is capable of “turning
ugly gaping wounds into scars that serve as badges of honour and trophies of
the grace of God at work in me” (emphasis mine).
What badges of honor
and trophies of God’s grace
will you include in your memoir?
Like Peter Mommsen said,
“If
we are going to live with courage
and joy and integrity,
we need honest, true-to-life stories
to show us how.…”
Your memoir could do that.
If your scars could talk,
what stories would they tell?
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