The Meaning of a Scar

Years ago The Boy had a terrible car wreck, totaling our newly-paid-in-full Malibu. {Don’t you hate it when that happens?}

The accident wasn’t his fault. A driver, traveling at a high speed, didn’t realize that traffic was stopping and rear-ended him. The Boy was thrown into the vehicle in front of him, then off the road where another car (trying to avoid the accident) hit him again.

Very scary stuff.

The accident, as I said, was years ago when cell phones were much less common. The Boy had to borrow a fire fighter’s phone to call and leave a message for me.

Meanwhile, I had arrived home from work and thought nothing of the fact that The Boy wasn’t there yet. It took an hour or so for me to start worrying. Why I didn’t think to check the voicemail, I’ll never know. I do remember picking up our cat, Jet, and walking around the apartment crying and telling her I was worried about The Boy’s late arrival.

Eventually I did think to check the messages, learned The Boy had been in a wreck and tracked him down at a local hospital.

Fortunately, he walked away from the wreck with bumps and bruises thanks to good airbags. However, those good airbags also burned his arm. To this day, he still has a faint scar.

The point of this whole story is that scar.

The Boy works with our youth at church. Last week he was asked to share his story of recovering from scars – he’s had an interesting life that I’ve not really shared on this blog.

He recounted what he shared when he got home Sunday evening. He said that he finished his story by talking about how scars don’t have to ruin you – they can remind you of what you have survived.

{Forgive me, Love, if I’m not writing this 100% as you said.}

And here’s where he surprised me: He told the youth that whenever he looks at the airbag scar on his arm, he doesn’t think about a terrible wreck that could have killed him. He thinks about how his wife loves him so much that she walked around an apartment, crying into a kitty’s fur, because she was worried about him.

I have to confess that I’ve never stopped to think about the other side of my personal scars (we all have them). I’m so glad that he shared that story with me – nearly 12 years after that wreck.