I have a scar on my right arm up near the elbow. About an inch long, a white scrape from a nail on a 2 by 4 that I was nailing into the floor of a demolished house in the New Orleans. I love this scar. In the summertime, I look down at my skin and there it is...I smile.
Some scars are good. We are proud of them! Showing off our bruises and scrapes to one another evoking "oooh"s and "awhh!"s. Proof that we have traveled. We have served. We have lived.
There are other scars. Scars that effect us deeply. That which we carry with us for the rest of our lives. We try to hide these scars, but they too effect other people.
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