One morning when I was a pre-school age child, my cousin and I were poking the fire in the fireplace with sticks. It was fun to watch the brilliant red sparks fly upward when we moved the logs.
Fun turned to tragedy when I got too close to the fire. My chenille housecoat caught on fire. I was engulfed in flames. My screams brought my grandmother. She put the flames out with her bare hands.
I don't remember too much after that except the doctor or someone smeared me with heavy ointment and wrapped me in white sheets of some kind. I do remember staying that way for what seemed a long time.
Although the pain of that day is long gone, I bear scars that never let me forget. A jagged scar on my right leg reminds me. As a teenager, I never wanted to go swimming with my peers (especially boys) because I was embarrassed about the ugly scar. I remember how nervous I was when I told my soon to be husband about the scar. I thought he needed to know before we married. It wasn't a problem to him, still isn't.
The scars on my stomach and fingers are not seen by others. Sometimes, when I step out of the shower and look into the mirror, I get a glimpse of the ones on my stomach. Just a little reminder of the past.
Sin makes scars, too. You can get past the experience, the pain. But, the scars never go away. They are a constant reminder. How wonderful that God gives us the ability to see them and yet not dwell on what got them there. He has taken that away! To him, we have no scars. Pure and beautiful like a little pre-school age girl before the fire. What an awesome God!!
Scarless to God, Gloria
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