Looking down, there it was. I hadn't seen it in a very long time. Even though I have had it around 50 years. Looking at it today, I remembered. I was young. Carefree. Blonde ponytail, blowing in the wind, as I sped down the driveway on my bicycle. Unique bike to say the least. Only one half of a handle bar. The other half had been broken off somehow, leaving a rusty, jagged piece on the other side. It didn't stop me. I rode it anyway. Mama probably told me not to. I don't remember. It wasn't that I didn't listen. I just wanted to do what I wanted to do. I was hard-headed. Okay. I didn't listen!!!! I was a Tom boy, outside was my playground. Being the youngest of two girls, I played alone often. I remember mama telling me one time that a teacher told her I was accident-prone. Whatever that means. I guess I was. I had accident's at school and at home all the time. I fell out of my climbing tree and sprang my arm one time. I fell on our rusty can, dog dish and cut my leg open. One time my family was frying fish at a pond and my poppy was driving all the kids out to the pond where we were going to eat. We were all in the back end of the truck. That's what country kids did in the 60's. He stopped quickly and a huge glass bottle full of water turned over and broke. He quickly jumped out of the cab and hurried to the back where we were. "Are ya'll okay?" he asked. I heard everyone say, "yes." Everyone but guess who? I looked down at my ankle, gashed wide open, blood everywhere. It's true, it seemed like I was always getting hurt. Those injuries were nothing compared to this one though. It was a hot, summer day. I had shorts on and was barefooted, which was how I usually played. I was riding my bicycle the one with the rusty handle bars. I rode down the driveway onto the highway, which was directly in front of our house. It was a paved road with a lot of rocks. The edge of the pavement came up about an inch and a half from the side of the road. Riding along, not a care in the world, I rode too close to the edge of the road and ran off of it. I tried to correct my error but it was futile. The deep incline and loose rocks made it impossible to get back on the highway. I lost control and my bicycle turned over, gouging my right ankle. It wasn't too far from the ankle mishap I had in the back of my poppy's truck. It must have been quite painful though because my body took over and went into a sorta comatose state because I don't really remember much from that point. I don't even remember who came and got me off the road. I know it must have scared my mama to death. She told me later that daddy sent his assistant football coach to go with her to the doctor. Thank you Lord for good friends because nothing stood between my daddy and his football team. It bled a lot because I remember seeing towels and towels full of blood. They took me to the nearest town and nearest doctors office. Those were back in the days when you could just go directly to his office. Until this day, I still remember the doctor saying, "You missed a main artery." "If you had of cut it, you could have easily bled to death right there in the road." Thank God, Jesus had other plans for me that day. Around fifty stitches later my leg was all sewn up. Stitches on the inside and stitches on the outside. It was a mess. Painful experience. It took me quite a while to get over it. Funny how I haven't thought about it in a very long time until today.
You know, all pain is like that. Whether it's on the inside or the outside. It hurts. My heart or my leg. It's painful. There is really only one way to describe it. At times, it hurts like hell. It just does. It feels like you are never going to get over it. Never going to see the other side. I remember when I went through divorce. I remember raising my grand kids. Dreams that didn't come true. Then one day, you look at what was once a throbbing wound and you see a scar. It will be forever present but without the agonizing pain. Only Jesus can do that. I didn't really know when it happened, it just did. I know that it didn't happen over night. In fact, it felt like it took a very long time. But, when the time had come, I realized, that the pain was barely there any more...sometimes even completely gone.
I loved being a free-spirited child. Even if it did mean getting hurt at times. As a young mother that little girl continued to pop out. Even as a grown woman, I still see her occasionally. Pushing those boundaries at times. Although, finally, realizing it isn't worth it most of the time. Its taken many years to see it, but pain isn't a bad thing. It's during those times that I see the faithfulness of God to me right where I am. Every time. Drawing me to Him. Not giving up on me. Not keeping count of how many times it takes me. Just simply, loving me. Now, that is a relationship I wouldn't trade for the world.
Thank you Father, that when I look at my scars I see you,
sammie jean
