Take Heart, Daughter

I don’t like to wear short sleeves. Even the hot, humid summers here in the Deep South will find me on the verge of heatstroke in cardigans with the sleeves pushed up. I know it’s ridiculous. Every summer, I promise myself I’ll grow up and be more mature about it next year. But each time I look in the mirror and see the thick, jagged, raised scars crisscrossing my right arm, I chicken out and throw on that sweater. It’s just easier to avoid what they represent to me.

My scars don’t have an interesting story behind them—no exciting adventures, no secret tragedies. Each one of my thirteen scars is from a near-miss with melanoma. Those lines across my skin serve as a reminder of all the times I went without sunscreen. To me, they’re wagging fingers pointing out my foolishness.

Scars on the Inside

I carry scars on the inside as well, and I like to hide them from the outside world just as much as I like to hide my visible scars. My inside scars are the words I wish I could unhear. The words I wish I could unsay. The moments I would change if I could. The hurts I’m ashamed to feel as deeply as I do. Just like my physical scars, these inner wounds remind me of my foolishness—and my weakness.

Those inconvenient aspects of being human—imperfections, mistakes, and failures—are what we put the most effort into hiding and minimalizing. They’re also basic, common threads that link all of humanity. We all deal with hard stuff. We all mess up. We all fall down and need a hand getting back up. And yet we never want to seem weak, so we spend a lot of time and effort covering our scars so no one sees them.

Recently, I’ve begun seeing these scars in a new light. Where I once saw only my shame, I’m beginning to see the loads of grace behind each and every scar. Those unhealthy moments weren’t the end of my story. The scars aren’t just evidence of mistakes; they’re proof of healing.

We all have scars. Some are visible and live on our skin, telling stories of the adventures we’ve had and the places we’ve been. More often, our scars lie deep inside our hearts. Those are usually the ones we’ve hidden more carefully and come with stories we hold more tightly.

The Bleeding Woman

This reminds me of the story of the bleeding woman in the Bible’s book of Matthew: “A woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed’ Jesus turned and saw her. ‘Take heart, daughter,’ he said, ‘your faith has healed you.’ And the woman was healed at that moment” (Matthew 9:20–22 NIV).

This woman had suffered from a bleeding condition for twelve long years. Her physical pain must have been great. Her body must have been struggling with all sorts of issues because of continuous blood loss. This is what I’ve always tended to focus on when I’ve read her story—her obvious need for physical healing. She knew she needed healing. She was desperate for it. She also knew that to receive it, she would have to risk people seeing her need.

But there was so much more to her need for healing.

In an era when bleeding women were considered unclean and sequestered in isolation, the preceding twelve years of her life must have been a nightmare. It’s hard for me to imagine a modern-day equivalent of the crushing loneliness this woman must have lived with.

But Jesus knew. He not only addressed her physical healing, but with just one word, he addressed her emotional healing: “Daughter.”

With that single word, he banished loneliness and isolation and brought her into community. In the presence of so many witnesses, he deemed her wanted and welcomed. As far as I can tell from my limited knowledge and research, she’s the only person Jesus referred to as “daughter,” and she just might have been the one woman he encountered whose heart needed to hear it most.

How wonderful it is to have a God who sees our invisible wounds and hears our silent cries. Take heart, daughter. There is one who sees. He heals our hidden hurts. He replaces our shame with victory. He gives beauty for ashes.

May our scars be testaments of grace and reminders of healing. May we wear them with the confidence of those who are truly seen and known and loved beyond measure.

Ashley Doyle Pooser is a wife and a mom of three. She recently moved to Atlanta, where she’s trying her best to be a responsible adult but feels like she’s mostly flying by the seat of her pants. She blogs at ashleydoylepooser.com.

Photograph © Hadis Safari, used with permission