Scar

Do you sometimes stare at a object, or a person and end up getting lost in whatever feelings they inspire? I do... I often do. I was sitting  on a park bench earlier this evening, and kept staring at a crack on the pavement completely mesmerized. 

                                       

It reminded me of a few lines I wrote in my journal earlier in the day that read:

" Sealed, my heart is sealed. It has been made new again."

For some reason, I kept trying to imagine this little perfect image of what a restored heart looks like, and it just did not feel right. I knew there had to be more to these words than the idea that somehow my heart would magically be free of scars and various bumps. When I saw the crack in the pavement... I knew... I knew it was my heart. The crack was the scar from disappointments, hurts, heartache, loss and pain. It was barely noticeable until I sat down on a bench across from it, with the intention of capturing the sun before it set. I walk daily around  many people (including myself) who carry scars, and pretend  they are not there. It felt really good to acknowledge that this scar, no matter how small or gnarly is truly becoming a part of me, but it does not have to define who I am.  

After all, the crack is on still solid ground...still standing, still beating, still searching, still experiencing, still taking risks. That's a good sign, isn't it?

eed