By Kathy
My mom, like most of us, has a myriad of scars on her body,
each one telling a tale. She will tell
you about each of her scars, and with each one, there is a great adventure she
tells, her eyes sparkling. She tells tales
of racing down Pennsylvania mountains with her siblings on a sled and crashing,
scraping legs and arms while climbing trees, and all sorts of other daring
escapades.
I also have scars that tell tales, although mine are somewhat
less impressive than my mother’s. I have
a scar on my knee from where my brother picked me up as a small child, and
dropped me on my bed. He thought it
would be a fun ride, although he did not see the metal bracket on my dress-ups
box that slashed my skin as I landed.
Then there is the scar on my elbow. This one I earned when I was standing on a
large rock outside my childhood home, flirting with a neighbor boy, when I fell
and scraped myself on the rock. Not too
impressive for the cute boy. I only told
my mother of the injury the next day, because I didn’t want the mishap to
prevent us from our trip to the mall that day.
I have another scar on my shin. This one I received when I won a game of
bingo, and as I ran onto the platform to claim my prize, I tripped over the
stairs and bloodied myself.
The scar on my forehead is one of my finest moments. While staying in a hotel in Milwaukee, I was
awakened in the night with the sound of fireworks. Fireworks! I thought. I LOVE fireworks! After all, I was born on the 4th
of July! I leaped up and ran to get my
glasses in the dark, tripped and fell, and cut myself on the table. The next day I also developed two black eyes.
But today is a new day.
I want to have new scars, along with new wrinkles, to tell a different
tale. I want to have smile wrinkles that
tell of kindness to strangers, wrinkles at my brow that tell of earnest prayers
for those in need, scars that tell of risks taken for the Kingdom. I have a long way to go to get there, from a
Bingo scar, to evidence of a life well-lived for the Lord, but each day is a
new day, and each day I have the opportunity to strive to become more like Him.
When I was in New York City some time ago, I visited Saint
Paul’s Chapel, which was a center of refuge for the first responders during 9/11. During that horrific time, firefighters,
police officers, and other emergency workers would go to the church to nap on
the pews, still wearing their boots and belts in an effort to return to rescue
as soon as possible. As the pews became
old and worn out over time, they were replaced, but the congregation left one
damaged pew in the church, as a reminder of that difficult time. I feel like this is the way that churches,
and the body of Christ, should be used.
We should leave this earth with our earthly body showing the evidence of
a life lived for the King, just like that New York pew.
On the wall also at Saint Paul’s, there is a plaque
displayed. I don’t know this David
McKean, but one phrase stood out to me: “who died… in the midst of his usefulness”. Wouldn’t it be amazing to feel like you died
in the midst of your usefulness?
Mother Teresa has always been an amazing role model for me
and so many others. I am certainly not
likening myself to her! (Remember my
fireworks scar?!) But what a picture of
one who died in the midst of her usefulness!
What a beautiful, wrinkled, kind, smiling face, reflecting the love of
Christ. I want those wrinkles.
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