We live our lives with scars. Everyone has them. Whether they’re hidden, tucked away, or on display they are there guiding and shaping us sealing us with life’s unique fingerprint.
I like my scars.
Dark and red they tell a story. It’s a map of survival. Winding paths of perseverance and longing. Knots of desperation and a long fight. Narrow roads of hope and a future. They tell me where I’ve come from and where I’m going.
I am not my scars. They wrap around me but I am not wrapped up in them. They’re not there to teach me a lesson, but I learn from them. They snake across my body and they are written across my heart. They do not serve as a painful reminder, but as a guide.
I used to wish them away. Pray that they would disappear worried that it was all I would be.
I have allowed them to be a gift to me.
Don’t be afraid. Believe. Hang on. There has to be more. Love deeply. Live. Whispers from a story told urging me to keep going.
I live my life with scars seen and unseen. They weave in and out. They are my battle wounds. And for that I honor them.
In Slumdog Millionaire
If you haven’t seen this movie go see it. Now. Go! Scott and I saw it over the weekend and fell in love with it. My friend Jenn says it is as heartbreaking as it is heartwarming and she’s right. It is a beautiful inspirational movie – one of survival and hope and destiny.