Warts And All, Even

Romans 8:1 -- "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ."

The shadows cast by the trees that lined our dirt road had become long and the mosquitoes started to buzz as if we'd personally set chimes to the dinner bell. It was definitely time to go in. Not wanting to admit fatigue, however,  my sister and I begged Mom for just one more round of Tether Ball. She obliged, and we each took our places around the pole.

Oh, how I do remember the days before video games and cable TV.

Round and round the bright yellow ball went around the pole, the simplicity in design still a marvel to me, I can remember it as if it were yesterday -- how we played on until the the bright Philippine sun was so low behind the trees that we could barely see what we were doing. And we laughed. Like music echoing through the Epil Epil trees - we laughed like our lives depended on it.

On an old dusty road with no street lights, the darkness forced an end to our Tether Ball game. Mom and I broke the pole down into pieces and started to role the cement-filled tire into the driveway of our house. It was then that Dad drove up behind us, getting home from a long day at work. He did what he usually did, he honked the horn.

Most houses in the Philippines are all fenced in by tall cement walls with crushed glass imbedded into the tops. The only entry point is a two-doored gate that locks with a pad lock. Dad honked, signalling someone on the inside of this fortress to come open the gate so he could drive in. Though the gate was already open for Mom and I to role the tire into the yard - Dad's honk did was it was intended to do.  It made us both jump. I can look back on it and call it funny - but when Mom and I dropped the cement tire, the anchor part of the tether ball pole came up fast and hit me on the right side of my jaw. I didn't think it was funny then. Mom didn't either when I ran into the house and grabbed the only good guest towel she had left and pressed it into my bleeding face in an effort to stop the flow. Heads and feet bleed the most. They bleed faster and more readily than any other part of the body. I ruined her guest towel.

Had we been back in the US at the time, I would have been rushed to the ER and had several stitches sewn into the side of my face to close the gash. But, we weren't back in the US. My poor Dad, after spending all day at work was greeted with a blubbering pre-teen and a medical emergency the second he stepped into the house. An expert by now at what one would call "battle-field" triage - Dad patched me up with gentle hands.

At forty-one, I look into the mirror lined with bright LED bulbs, grab my toothbrush and set out to brush my teeth. I don't know why I need a mirror to brush my teeth - I DO know where they all are in my mouth .... but it never fails - I stand there at the mirror, monitoring my progress with the toothbrush as if I might somehow miss one of them while completing my oral hygiene ritual.  As I turn my head to left, I can see the slightly jagged scar on my jaw. It makes me smile, now. In part, because I can still here my sister, my mom, and myself laughing as we punched on a tether ball. And in part, because I can remember thinking that I'd never get married because no one would want a face with a jagged scar marking the right jaw line. [I know, its silly - but girls really do come up with thoughts like that].

When my husband took me on our very first date - he didn't even notice that I had a scar. In fact, it wasn't until after we were engaged that he even asked me about it. THAT memory makes me smile, too.

When Jesus looks at us -- those of us who know Him, love Him, and serve Him - he doesn't see our scars. We have NO scars left on us by past sin. We now have NO condemnation in Him. While I might see my scar when I stand at the mirror to brush my teeth - Jesus doesn't. Holding on to the memory of things that I have done - things that would not be pleasing to Christ - only hurts MYSELF and fixes my focus on MYSELF. If I can't let go of yesterday, I cannot shine for Christ today.

Jesus doesn't see the scars. He takes us as we are. He loves us, forgives us [if we ask] warts and all. Now, I ask you - if HE doesn't see the scars left on us by our past - why should we dwell on them? Aren't they pretty much a non-issue?