Scars

It wasn't so long ago that I started collecting my scars. I have 7 now. Some are round, some are long, some are pink and some are starting to fade. What started out as an unexpected illness turned into a year of doctor's appointments, every imaginable test, and the 3 major surgeries that gave me my scars. I considered myself chronically ill during that time as I shuffled from doctor to doctor and in and out of the hospital. I am better now but I will never forget how that year changed me, thanks to the scars. I can't miss them. They're scattered all over what was once my smooth soft belly. Some memories of that year I would like to forget. The exhaustion, the pain, the lying in bed, the missed opportunities, the anxiety of being given anesthesia, and the feelings of helplessness. Some memories are good, like when I dyed my hair dark red for one surgery and purple for another. I remember the love and encouragement from friends and family that got me through many dark days. Through it all, the scars remain. I'm trying not to look at them as reminders of pain and loss, but as symbols of survival and triumph. Sometimes I miss the look of my smooth belly and I wish none of this would have happened. But then I remember how much I've changed. How much I appreciate now. How much I've grown as an individual. How much closer I've come to God. When I begin to get depressed about my scars I remember:

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me" - 2 Corinthians 12:9