Scars. This was the angle of today. The scars of Jesus. The scars of injuries. The scars of life. You know, the only remaining scars on Jesus after he rose were the scars on his hands. Why do these scars remain?
Andy and I sandwiched our kids in the pew today during service. There they sat, all clean and shiny. And they listened to the sermon about scars. They know all too well about scars. All but the youngest, have too much of an understanding about scars.
“What’s Kurt mean about internal scars?” Sam whispers to me.
“He means when someone hurts your heart it sometimes leaves a mark on you.”
He nods. Is quiet. Then: “It stops hurting if you forgive them.”
I’m quiet. Nod. Then: “Sometimes it’s hard to forgive when people hurt us.”
He leans close, his forehead bumping my temple. “That’s why Jesus died on the cross. When He lives in your heart it’s easier to forgive.”
I nod. Stay quiet. He may not understand about having scars, but he knows how to help heal scars. Sometimes scars make it difficult for people to be pleasant. Sometimes when people are scarred they don’t treat others kindly — especially those they live with.
He is the glue that binds our family together. It happened when we adopted the girls and it’s happening again. He shows unconditional love and forgives again and again. I’ve often wondered how he keeps loving. Now I know his secret.
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