"I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means I survived."
from Little Bee
I went running for the first time in weeks, and I was expecting to struggle and flounder and gasp for breath. I started slow, but my legs itched for more. “Run!” they whispered. “Run harder!” So I did.
I ran faster and farther and longer than I ever have. The sun was setting in front of me, the sky changing, falling into dusky purple and pink and orange. I felt strong. I felt whole, 100% there. The scary little part of me that hides in the back closet and threatens to take over if I’m not careful is gone; I think I’ve worn him down.
I ran and I thought about all the things that I am. I’m a runner who drinks wine. I’m a counselor that wants to be left alone sometimes. I’m a Christian that swears. I’m flamboyant, but I want to fit in. I’m a good friend. I’m a bookworm. I’m a mess. I’m selfish. I’m compassionate.
I have a page in my journal dedicated to all the parts of myself, all the contrary, almost opposites that live in me: responsible/impulsive, capable/overwhelmed, safe/damaged. Before, I thought I had to pick, to find a way to be one thing or the other. That until I could get that under control, I was a mis-matched, stuck together unperson, all damaged and scary, like Sid’s toys in Toy Story.
Today, I feel the air in my lungs and I know that is a lie. I am whole. I am complete. All of my secrets and scars and wishes and dreams can live together in this one body without shame, without blame, without fear. All loved, all accepted, all in service to God. In his eyes, regardless of what I did or didn’t do today, I am loved. I am His, so I am enough.