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Old
Scars
when we understand
redemption, we are healed, and heal...
“Old Scars”
The gasping was like a
reverse hurricane when
the leader revealed his wounds.
One after one, followers, peers, friends and hangers-on
touched the spot at the tender scar just beneath
his right cheekbone.
“Go ahead,” he said,
“don’t be afraid to touch the scars; these are old wounds,
battlescars, uninfected protection once weak.”
Fear friends more than
failure, for years
he had turned the wound away from the light,
every portrait taken at just the right angle to
hide his evident humanity.
But either courage or
great weariness had gained the day
(considerable energy is expended in always turning your face just so)
and he turned the wounded side toward the people
(some had suspected, some were caught off-guard, all
were tempted to inspect the old scar.)
(fresh wound should be
tended to,
bandaged, let breath, anointed, nursed and
gently restored.
But scars are only signs
of battle, not weakness,
evidence of fights with turmoil we rarely display.)
One after one, they ran
their fingers over the ragged,
soft, and discolored scar. Very few looked in his eyes
and most left quietly, afraid that a leader could hurt
with so great a hurt.
Some ranted about only the
weak getting wounded
and dug into the old scar while saying it was for his good.
Probing with pickaxes they would get to the bottom
of this embarrassing blemish on a leader.
But others, (true, only a
handful),
but others quietly turned their faces again
one to another and discovered their own wounds
again.
Fingers touched faces,
faces shed sorrow droplets,
men and women were human, redeemed and free
again.
thoughtful about to whom i
reveal my scars,
© 2000 by mark phillips, all rights reserved
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