Scars

I found a wonderful Christ centered book a couple of weeks ago and finally had time to sit down and read it even though I have a couple of orders for earrings. It is entitled 'Your Scars are Beautiful to God'.  It starts off going through the physical scars  each of us have, like the scars from a rotator cuff repair, a hysterectomy, and repair of two bulging discs.  The most obvious one is the rotator cuff repair. Before I had the hystectomy, I tanned so my Dr. would know where my bikini line is. He did a good job.....no suture scars thanks to super glue and butterfly tape. The neck scar is not really noticable, it looks like another wrinkle.  I have other scars in various places from scrapes and such. I was something of a tomboy so it is to be expected. The one on my shin bone is the one I remember the most, it hurt like a big dog. I was stepping up into one of my flowerbeds and skinned my shin, hitting the edge of the brick wall. It took out a chunk of flesh through my jeans and a sock. But none of these compares to the scars inside of us which no human can see. So far the book has hit home on a couple of different points. Until I saw the title of this book, I didn't think of the scars as being helpful to anyone else. I have tried to learn from them and think some of it has soaked in. Some of the scars are still raw and some are completely healed. The meetings I go to have probably helped as much as anything. I haven't had to drink over anything in a very long time.

I have had to look at my family history to see that the scars were hold-overs from previous generations. My grandpa was a raging alcoholic and my grandma stayed in bed with extreme depression issues. Mom has related the story of how she had to do the dishes in third grade and how she had to get herself and her sisters ready for school because grandma was too lazy to get out of bed. Depresssion is ugly and I believe my grandma truly suffered with it. Grandpa hated everyone and was an athiest. He had a very unahppy life from the beginning although I don't know much aobut it. He started smoking at the age of 8 and talked about fighting a lot. When a pack of dogs killed the milk cow he shot every one of them. He made the lives of his family unhappy and truly a living hell for all of them especially my youngest aunt and my grandma. I think that's why she took up gardening. The beauty of the gardens were a stark contrast to the ugliness of her life. The one thing they had in common was the love of antiques. They had so much cool stuff, it was an explorers heaven when you're 6. She made jewelry and knew how to knit and crochet. I still have the blanket she made for me so many years ago. I loved her so much and didn't know anything about the life they had until I was in my late teens and early 20's. She died in 1993 of systemic cancer. She looked about 90 and was only 73. She never understood that she had choices about her life. She died of sprititual cancer as much as physical cancer. My own mother is the same way though not to that degree. I was that way until I started working those steps and realized that I have choices every day of my life. I still struggle with depression from time to time but, thanks to meds and meetings, it's not as bad as it was a few years ago. There was a time I missed work due to depression, even sober.  I don't want to continue to perpetuate the disease through my kids. Some of the issues I have experienced will never happen to Brit and Cale because I chose to change my behavior from a monster to a mother. I am so not perfect even still I am a good mom to Brit and Cale.