Powerful is the pain that we carry. Along the trail of life we trot until on that fateful day pain strikes. Unbidden and undeserved, now there’s a new wound. With an oozing mess around us, our steps have slowed and our feet are now dragging.
Powerful is the scab that we grow. Revenge fills our thoughts; anger fills our hearts. Words we spew at every injustice; a molten fire builds within us. Locked down and frozen in time at the strike of the wound, we give ourselves over to a consuming death.
Powerful is the scar that we wear. A souvenir, a piece of jewelry, a medal of honor for the war we were in. Long ago the war was over; long ago the war was lost. Today we have a memory of where we’ve been. Today we live as though we are still there.
Powerful is the healing if we embrace it. The strike of the wound doesn’t disappear but its weight has been lifted. The oozing fire from within has died and new life has been granted. The scar, no longer a neon sign, is now a reminder of grace and forgiveness.