When I was 9, I somehow contacted Tuberculosis in my right neck gland. It swelled and swelled until I had to go to the doctor. My pediatrician was a doctor in the army during WWII. He had seen his share of TB. He knew it right away. I was hospitalized and my neck cut open to expose what was the disease that threatened my life.
My mother and I share this in common: We both become belligerent when exposed to anesthesia. I woke lying naked on the bed and was indignant that I was not covered. I was exposed for all of the lady nurses to admire...or so I imagined.
I laid in bed for a couple of weeks until the stitches were ready to come out. My mom had a nurse friend come over to remove the huge bandage that had fused to my neck and nape hair. She tore it out with a fury that cannot be matched by the angriest wolverine. I was in pain. Real pain. The kind when you shrill.
I have a scar.
My doctor told me that my scar would heal stronger than my regular skin because of my fear that the wound would reopen. He was right. I have a scar on my neck, but it has never opened up to expose my jugular once. Not even once.
Maybe when we get any kind of scar, it heals like that. Maybe when we are torn to shreds and left in the cold for the world to laugh at, we heal stronger than we were before our injury. I pray this is true. I pray that all pain leads to strength. I hope to be able to handle anything when the worst of this is over. I still feel I have the worst yet ahead of me, but if it will serve to make me much stronger, I will endure with a smile on my face. If not, I will just endure. God does the work right? He gets us to the places we need to be, whether we think we can ever make it or not.
The scars will remain. Forever. But that doesn't mean they can't show the war God has carried me through and show others that even if you are beaten up, we will end up on top. Once again, I believe without seeing this yet. But I believe because I have seen a worldly hell before and watched this same God lift me out of the flames.