Wednesday

to let scars speak

i cut my wrists with a tube of toothpaste.
i was 17,
{and yes a lot happened when i was 17}
and in the white walled, locked door
psychiatric hospital for the
second time.
they took everything even remotely dangerous
when i arrived,
including the drawstring from my
blue polar bear pajama pants,
which broke them and i never wore them again,
and when you're a teenage girl in a hospital
and all you want is attention,
and all you know about getting attention is to
do something damaging,
you find any means to do so...
and so i found a tube of toothpaste and
the end of it was a tad sharp,
and it worked surprisingly well
i still have a faint scar running across my wrist.

it didn't exactly work for receiving attention though.
apparently the people who worked in the hospital
were used to stuff like that,
and since it wasn't bad enough to warrant
medical care they
told me i was stupid and put me on
some restrictions.
made hospital life a bit unbearable for a little while.
guess it wasn't much worth it.
but the cut was fantastic in my eyes until
the day a new patient arrived with
robin smith hair and eyeliner,
and he looked like a walking cure song,
and i loved the cure so
i immediately took to him and
when he was introduced he
told us to call him tear and
showed us the cuts on his arm and,
what's an infatuated teen mental patient to do?
i cried out,
"your cuts are so much prettier than mine!"

and it became somewhat of a game for us,
this sharing of scars and stories of
what we had done and
why we had been deemed crazy,
and we all found a bond,
us bunch of attention seeking kids,
whose souls were empty and crying
out to God,
and yet didn't know we were
crying out to Him,
we just knew that we were empty...


it wasn't long after i left that hospital that
Christ caught up with me and
gave me all the real, thirst quenching attention
a girl could ever need,
taking the tattered linen of my soul and
mending it beautiful and
a year later,
after my life had changed,
tear came to visit me and
saw the change and
questioned me.
he told me i had become exceedingly beautiful,
that peace and i had found a way
to coexist,
to become one,
and it was, in his words,
intoxicating,
and how could he get some
of what
i had found?
i told him of Christ,
that Peace and i were friends,
that we had found one another and
made a symphony of light,
of love.
he told me i was crazy,
took the next train home and
never spoke to me again.

and don't our scars remind us of the broken,
empty
places we once dwelt in?
don't they whisper to us in the darkness,
remember you are loved,
you have been filled?

i sit and look at scars,
and i remember friends and
stories and days of brokenness.
my scars speak of
who i was,
but His scars tell me
who i am.





 

20 comments:

  1. The wounded still wear their scars. Friend, my heart was whispering this same message today.

    Your words are beautiful here.

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    Replies
    1. thank you jennifer. the same message, can't get over it.

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  2. Yes, Jesus' scars are so beautiful--a hole marking where our hearts were filled. I love your openness, Amy, and where you've come from and are today will be used for Christ's glory. Don't ever forget it! Great post!

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  3. GEEZE LOUIS AMY THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE READ IN A LONG LONG LONG LONG WHILE.
    He quenches our thirst, our need for attention. YES! I WILL SHOUT AT YOU ALL DAY FOR WRITING THIS AND SHARING THIS. You are beautiful. LOVE IT!

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    1. awww thanks. shucks. and your comment went to spam... weird. but i found it.

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  4. Oh, what a miracle you are and I am thanking God that you found Him and redeemed your life. Funny, I wrote of scars in my post too. It must be on God's heart today, that our scars tell the world what we have overcome. Lovely write.

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  5. smiles...thanks for being real...i def carry a few scars myself...the fading puckered flesh def reminds me not just of those days but also the growth that has happened since...

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  6. "taking the tattered linen of my soul and
    mending it beautiful"
    Oh Amy is only you knew. I have been there too :)
    xx

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  7. (if)
    Blame the wiggly baby sitting on my lap for the typo ;)

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  8. "... my scars speak of
    who i was,
    but His scars tell me
    who i am."

    your words are beautiful. so is your message...

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  9. Jesus does have beautiful scars. I'm glad yours are healed. Your story touched me and hurt and helped all at once. My son self mutilates and it breaks my heart. Thank you for hope.

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  10. A sweet poetic song of pain and healing and transformation in Christ. Awesome.

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  11. Oh Amy, this is so beautiful because it is so real. I never made it to the psych ward, but I know that 17 year old craziness and the way the Lord can reach down and make it beautiful in one sweet moment. And I know as a momma who has had a child in the psych ward, what that need for attention is and how it drives them relentlessly. Thank you as always for the transparency.

    And I see you guys keep poison oak around your place too, huh? My poor kids break out at the mention of it, so I'll keep them away from your photos. *hee*

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    Replies
    1. haha, yes, lots of poison oak! josiah always seems to wander into it. so we took a picture that he can always look at to remember exactly what it looks like. but i thought the picture was so beautiful so i used it!

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  12. Thank you for sharing this. You are so brave, really.

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  13. Beautifully written, raw and real and so incredibly honest. I am glad you found Jesus.

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  14. isn't it interesting when crazy people look at you like you are crazy but you used to be crazy but you're not now so you know you aren't crazy but they can't tell that you're not crazy because they are still crazy? i love your story. the being healed parts. it's so wonderful. thank you for telling it. i'm glad i found you in blogland.

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  15. wow. that last line. wow.
    our nanny just confided in me tonight that she used to cut herself. there is so much pain in the world. i love you amy.

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