Jesus

...and then it hit me. Christ's wounds, that is. they're scars. they're not just holes. you might be able to look through the opening in his hands and see to the other side. but then again, you may not. but what counts is that they're there.

if they're real scars then they look leathery and healed. they aren't still bleeding. they're like the scars that we all share, distortions and mutations of skin that come about from the healing of a wound. and so it must be for him. because he's real. and so are his scars. and one day, by God's grace, i'll see them. one day, he'll reach out his hands and show them to me. but even then i may not be able to see them. my eyes will be blurry and my face will be drenched with tears. i will bow. i will embrace. and i will worship. i will realize complete forgiveness in the completeness of my brokeness.

he's real, you know. though my imagined perceptions of him are way off kilter... he's still real. and for one small moment it hit me. in spite of my self-abosorption, self focus and self loathing... he's still real. he has a face. a personality. he has a body. because he's a man like me. but he's so much more. thank goodness, he's so much more. thank goodness his scars are real. thank God he's God.

so capture my heart, oh wounded one. for i am daily wounded and daily wounding. i am covered with scars. daily i provide the injuries for new scars and daily i receive the wounds that will lead to new scars. so heal my wounds and give meaning to my scars... for the purpose of glorifying yours.