What If Scars Are Actually Miracles Written on Skin?
On haircuts and a wounded Savior.
I sit quietly in the chair as hair falls to the ground. She works quickly and with each snip of the scissors, another question comes my way: Remind me what you do for work? Are you dating anyone? Did you want layers today?
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I answer each one, ask a few of my own in response, and then hold my breath wondering if she’ll ask about the scar suddenly on full display.
You’d never know it unless I were to pull my hair into a ponytail, unless I put it into a bun, unless you stood behind me at a hair appointment — and then there’s simply no missing the bare skin where hair no longer grows.
I’m permanently marked. There’s a four-inch scar on the back of my head, and the truth is, I don’t think about it very much anymore. I have to use two mirrors to see it, and the pain of nerves coming back together, throbbing headaches, and dizziness has lessened over the years.1
It’s been eleven years2 since brain surgery and at this point, the scar is simply part of me. But every time I sit in a hairdresser’s chair, I wonder if she’ll ask something, say something, or carry on as if it doesn’t exist.
Here’s what I know, over a decade later:
We can’t always see the scars that mark a person. We all, each and every one of us, have been bruised or cut in one way or another. We all have tender places that are still being healed, and we would do well to be gentle with one another.
Scars are signs of survival, a mark of a cutting open that didn’t end in brokenness but in healing. In mending. In life. In the turning of a page, a story that wasn’t yet over.
Maybe, somehow, scars are actually miracles written on skin.
After His resurrection, after the piercing and the crushing, after death gave way to glorious life, Jesus appeared to the disciples. I don’t know about you, but when I imagine a perfected body, I don’t picture scars, wounds, or bruises. But Scripture doesn’t say Jesus showed up with perfect skin and perfect hair and a perfect smile. No, Scripture says that in response to their fear and doubt, Jesus shows them His . . . wounds.
“Why are you frightened?” he asked. “Why are your hearts filled with doubt? Look at my hands. Look at my feet. You can see that it’s really me. Touch me and make sure that I am not a ghost, because ghosts don’t have bodies, as you see that I do.” As he spoke, he showed them his hands and his feet.
Luke 24:38-40
We don’t know exactly what Jesus’s resurrected body looks like, but Scripture is clear on this: Jesus still has scars. It’s His wounds that show it’s truly Him, His scars that the disciple Thomas wanted to see (John 20:19-29).
I wonder if one day we’ll lean in close to see for ourselves, only to find His still-scarred hands reaching out for us.
I wonder if we’ll look for a wound and discover the scar is in the shape of our very own name, inscribed forever on His palm (Isaiah 49:16).
(I wonder if I’ll cry at the sight, and chances are good since I’m crying now just writing this sentence.)
Perhaps it’s worth saying again: Scars are signs of survival, a mark of a cutting open that didn’t end in brokenness but in healing.
Your scars show what you’ve been through, yes, but they also show that you made it through.
You’re still here.
If Jesus didn’t leave His scars behind, if He chose to keep them for the rest of all time, maybe we can choose to see our own as something beautiful instead of something to wish away. I’m talking about the ones we bare on our bodies and the ones that can’t be seen on our skin.
I’m not advocating that we all walk around showing everything to everyone or sharing every part of our story with complete strangers.
But maybe we could simply say “thank You” next time we look in the mirror. Maybe next time something that bruised us deeply is bumped by words or actions or the date on the calendar, we could bring our hurt to the One who truly understands. Maybe we could begin by asking the Healer to help us see our scars through His eyes.
I wonder if they look like beauty marks.
This summer, Thursday Things is paused (here’s why) and instead, we’re revisiting reader-favorites every other Thursday.
This article above ^ was originally published in August 2021. This past week was the “anniversary” of my Brain Surgery Day. The scars remain, and yes that’s plural on purpose. There’s one you can see, one that I still think about at every single haircut and every single time my hair goes up in a bun. But there are others that are invisible, silent, stretching across my days and my heart and my soul in ways I know intimately and yet am also still discovering.
If you want to read more about it, there are many Instagram posts over the years (including this and this from the last week), and of course there’s chapter 2 (titled ‘sickness & health’) of Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between. But always, there will be pieces that aren’t pixelated or printed and scars that aren’t seen. And always, it will be true for me and for you that our scars are miracles written right onto our skin, a beautiful tattoo of I’m Still Here. You don’t have to bare it all, but you don’t have to hide, either.
I’m so glad you’re still here. 💛
Re-reading this line today, in 2024, actually made me laugh. It’s true—totally true—that I very rarely think about the scar. And it’s also true—completely, entirely true—that I can’t go one single day without thinking about, living through, dealing with the daily chronic illness that came after brain surgery, the condition that wasn’t there before and has colored every day since. There’s a visible scar I rarely consider and an invisible one I can’t forget… and I can’t help but wonder if the same is true for you, in your own way. If you’re carrying something that can’t be seen by the naked eye, but marks you deeply, daily. If that’s you, please know I’ve prayed for you, for us, today… that we would know in a new way the comfort of the wounded Savior who sees it all and never leaves.
This was accurate as of the original publication date of the article, but it’s now 14 years.