Scars

I find myself writing this month's newsletter from the one place I least expected; my oldest son's bedside at All Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida. How I arrived here is a whirlwind adventure that I still don't completely understand, and the doctors seem unable to exactly explain.

It all began with a typical cold. One child gave it to the other, and soon each one fell victim. Soon, the cold ran its course and each child began to return to normal. All except one.

When finally it appeared that things were just not getting any better, Carla and I took Kenny to the emergency room. Our expectation was that they were going to give him some antibiotics and perhaps an IV to refresh his fluids. Our expectations were quickly shattered when we found ourselves in the frenzy of emergency room workers, and then quickly transferred to the Children's hospital in St. Pete.

Only once in St. Pete did the doctors begin to explain the severity of Kenny's condition. Sleep deprived, and still unaware of the true severity of his condition, the doctor's words struck me like a knock out blow from George Foreman. "We need you to sign this form to give us permission to operate. We need to insert a chest tube and drain the fluid away from his lungs."

I can remember barely being able to stand.

We had been praying for days for him to feel better. How could God have allowed my son to go through this? How could God have allowed this to get so far in the first place?

I found myself in a position I had never been before, as I listened to the doctors try to explain to me what was about to take place with my son. "A cut here... ...microscopic... ...may have to open him up." Their words cut through the haze of emotion like a sword piercing my heart.

As I fought back the tears, my mind agonized with the questions. "What happened? How? Why? Why God? Why?"

I had to sign a paper, my son's life depended on it. I signed it, and then waited. After what seemed an eternity, the doctor came out, and his words brought comfort. "Complete success... better than hoped..."

Two liters of fluid were drained from around his right lung in the surgery, and no damage was found on his lung. The doctor said he'd never seen a lung like this without damage from the experience. But Kenny's lung was perfectly healthy. He'd make a full recovery.

As I have sat, prayed, and contemplated over this past week in the hospital, I can't say that I know or completely understand why God allowed this to happened to my son. I've gone through the very normal human questions like, "Why my son!?!"

But, of the many questions that flowed from my heart in prayer, one question received an immediate response. From a father's love, and out of a broken heart, I cried out to God, "How could you let it get this far? I've always tried to protect him, and keep him from injury and pain. How could you let it get this far knowing that they will cut into him and leave him with scars? Why must my son have scars?"

He didn't answer in a way I would have wanted, but His response struck me none the less. He didn't answer my exact question, but instead taught me about the purpose and power of scars.

Show me a man without scars, and I'll show you a man who has never lived. Scars are the evidence of a battle fought. A lesson learned. Scars represent victories and never defeats. Scars are medals awarded to the victors, the survivors who have faced death and lived to tell about it. Only those still living have scars.

Scars make us real. They prove that we exist. We all know the story of Thomas after Jesus' resurrection. It was only when Thomas could see the hands and feel the side that Jesus became real in his life. It is the same with others as they look at us. There are those in the world looking at the church, trying to search through the hypocrites and spiritual supermen, looking for someone who is real like they are. Looking for someone who is able to be injured as they are, and who bear scars from their experiences as they do.

In the age of plastic surgery, it's often easy to hide our disfiguring scars, and in the church we often do the same. We hide the scars of our injuries and past. We bury them behind facades, and act as though we're invincible. We never bleed, we never hurt, and God always protects us. We're invincible. Plastic surgery can make supermen of mere mortals.

However, if we were to look back at those from the first church, we'd see something completely different. Paul often bragged of his scars. In Second Corinthians alone he describes "afflictions, hardships, distresses, beatings, imprisonments, tumults, labors, sleeplessness, stoning, whippings and hunger." Paul bore his afflictions openly, describing weaknesses, and trials. He didn't win the lost by demonstrating his superiority, but instead used his afflictions as an opportunity.

Scars have a purpose. They are visible reminders of where we've been, and what we've learned. They are tender to the touch, and make us tender to those who are facing what we have experienced.

Scars give hope. Scars prove that God brought you through, and if He can do it for you, He can do it for me too.

As I sit at the bedside, and finish this newsletter, I still can't say that I know completely why I'm here, but I know that God can use this experience.

Here, let me show you the scar.