Scars

I hate mosquitoes. My blood must be the Nutella of the mosquito world because ever since I was a child I have been harassed to a ridiculous degree by mosquitoes. Not surprisingly, this abuse came to its peak when I willing chose to move to a humid tropical island for 18 months.

In the Philippines I was bitten like crazy. Knowing mosquito affinity for my blood, I came prepared with enough repellent to supposedly repel bugs for a mile but it didn't work. I kept hearing it would get better, just wait it out, eat more garlic, wear tights, put this cream on, etc. My beloved Filipina Nanays would give me every sort of concoction to keep the bugs away and to help my scars heal.Whenever I moved to a new area my beloved Filipinos would look in horror at my white legs covered in bites and scars and suggest some new remedy. Long story short, and many creams later, nothing had changed and I conceded my fate to the mosquitoes, spiders and cockroaches.

Eventually the time came for me to head back to America and I naively assumed that the scars would go away within a couple of months. Until they were faded, I would just hide them away in long pants and tights.

It didn't turn out that way.

I came home and the bites that remained got infected. I eventually went to the doctor, got legitimate medicine to help and the they eventually healed, leaving behind dark scars all down my legs. I had tried to hide the extent of the damage in photos I sent home but now the scars demanded attention. For months after coming home I tried to conceal them. It worked pretty well because the cold weather gave me a reason to cover up but eventually summer came. The time came that I had to decide-- show my scars or die of heat. I chose the former and exposed my scars to the world. At first I felt embarrassed. It really wasn't as bad as I imagined it to be but I felt like everyone was staring at my scars. And the marks just refused to go away!

Time went by and I eventually had to reexamine my thoughts. I began to see my scars, instead, as a reminder. When I saw them I remembered people that I loved, experiences that I cherished and most importantly, the internal spiritual healing that occurred as I developed these outward scars. I grew to love my scars because more than any item or photo, they reminded me of the person I had become and the person I aimed to be.

My visible scars are the result of minimal damage and pain. I realize that other's scars, both visible and not, can come at a much higher price. I meet people who have suffered so much. I read stories of people who have swam oceans to reach safety, lost loved ones in war, or suffer from internal demons that do not seem to go away. We each have scars, some we are too scared to show others. They can serve as painful reminders of suffering, but they also show the power we have to heal.

And that is the beauty I see in scars. Yes, they may be visible signs of previous damage, of pain, of a break, and yet, to me, they are symbols of change. The idea that despite our feelings of hopelessness, we have the power to heal from damage. That which once was incomplete is made whole.

I love my scars, not because they show any sacrifice on my part, but because they remind me that I am human. I am imperfect, and yet there is always the hope of healing. It may take time, wounds may reopen, but we have a lifetime and beyond to get the necessary scars to face our Savior. In 3 Nephi 9 the Savior asks us to offer up a broken heart. He asks each of us, "will you not return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?" Christ has the power to heal us completely but may leave a scar as a reminder of the hope we have to heal and to change.

Our Savior was not ashamed of His scars, it was the way His followers recognized Him. I believe that God sees us with our scars. He gave His son so that we could heal. We can't expect to get by in life without some damage, perhaps we were born with it, but it is our scars that help us to recognize our Savior and be recognized by Him.