Scarface

Most people who know me fairly well know me to be a competitive person. I wouldn't call myself a "cut-throat, win-at-all-costs" kind of person, but when I'm playing a game, I certainly am playing to win. I love to compete and I love watching and playing sports for that reason. I must confess, though, that although God hard-wired me with a passion for athletics, He decided to gift me more on a continuum of "Rudy" rather than "The Natural."

My one and only year of playing basketball on an actual competitive team was in eighth grade. It was the first year our school had a team and there were maybe eight girls that came out total; I got to play a lot by default. I was forbidden to dribble the ball down the court and I'm not sure that my season point total ever went into double digits, but I could certainly do a mean chest pass and I played defense like no other. Anyone who entered my zone found me as their shadow and I had even more fun defending in a man-to-man. My passion for defense often left me trying to get the ball at all costs, often falling on the floor in a less-than graceful, but ever so dramatic fashion.

One game is indelibly etched in my mind. We played an away game on a carpeted gym. One girl from the other team started to go on a breakaway, and I was determined not to let her get there. The good news was that she did not get through to get the basket. The bad news was that in the process, my dramatic steal/fall left me with 2-inch, large brush burns on both of my knees and elbows. I wore knee pads to play after that.

Needless to say, I have since recovered from the physical injuries of my basketball career, but occasionally, I'll happen to glance down at my knees or elbow and notice the faded reminders of 2-inch brush burns that left me unable to bend for a week. The pain has left me, but the scar serves as a reminder of the experience and the lessons I learned from it (i.e. Let her get the two points).

My brush burn scars are not the only scars on my body and I confess that all too often I will look at all of them with disdain and regret. What God's really shown me, however, is that a scar should not be seen as something to be hidden, but rather something to be remembered. I cannot look at a scar without remembering where I got it and in the process I recognize that I am no longer the same. I am different. I've learned something. I am changed. The scar is evidence of the stories of my life that have made me who I am today.

My experience with the carpeted gym certainly did not taint me from ever playing basketball again. On the contrary, it taught me how to prepare myself so that I could play better in the future. In the same way, I cannot let my physical and emotional scars prohibit me from venturing forward in the adventures to where God is calling me.

When Jesus appeared to His disciples after His resurrection in His glorified, perfect body, I find it incredibly profound that His scars from His crucifixion remained. They were completely healed, but they were crucial in His testimony to Thomas and so many others, showing them that He was who He said He was and that His Father was who He said He was. In the same way, I will choose to use my scars to learn from them and even boast about them, showing them to others as evidence of God's faithfulness in my life.