I stand, naked and vulnerable, in my bathroom, staring into the mirror. The bright lights are off and the only illumination comes from my Winter Candy Apple candle and a small wall plug-in night light. Even in the lit darkness I can see my body. I see what I work so hard to change or conceal. I see what no one else is supposed to see. My body shows the scars of my past- who I used to be and how my life was headed. Every wrinkle, every stretch mark, every roll of fat tells a story much louder than my words. And since I am still alive to see these imperfections, the greatest story that it tells is that I survived everything that was designed to kill me.
Survival.
That should be enough for me or anyone else, but just surviving is not enough.
Surviving and far exceeding limitations or boundaries is what I desire.
Thriving is my goal.
Yet as I stand in my red-walled bathroom looking at my body, this one temple that God has loaned me, I can’t resist the urge to smile at all of my scars. In fact, now I am at a full guffaw! When I step out of this sacred space I throw on layers of falsehoods designed to make people believe that life is better than it really is. These layers cause people to assume that I am “perfect”, well put together, and doing better than reality speaks. These layers are liars and as I stared at the scars through my mirror, I embraced the imperfections that stared back at me.
These scars are my story.
I used to weigh 314.4 pounds and now I weigh 177 pounds. My stretch marks show a battle with food addiction and emotional eating that I am winning with Christ.
These scars are my story.
I lived in depression for decades but now I smile at what once consumed my mind and heart. My facial wrinkles show joy- given to me by God and irrevocable by man.
These scars are my story.
Around age 25 I decided to start getting tattoos. The pain of getting the tattoos served as a way for me to release emotional pain that was within me. My tattoos show my release from what once held me in bondage.
These scars are my story.
I am so accident-prone. A few weeks ago I burned myself on the steam from a tea kettle (I didn’t even know that was possible) and a dark spot on my forearm serves as a reminder of my propensity to injure myself in the most mundane of ways. My physical bruises show a life lived and lessons learned.
These scars are my story.
With the start of a new year and decade I had to take time to love who I am and how far God has brought me. My scars are telling a great story of 33 years of God’s faithfulness, despite my lack of faith. My scars are my story and I am in love with the narrative:
God Happened To Michelle Early.
Beloved, on this first Monday of 2020, I encourage you to thank God for your scars. They are your story, your testimony of how good God has been to you. No matter what has happened in your life, if you are alive to see/feel the scars, God has been good and is worthy of your praise.
To close out this #MondayMessage, I lead you to a song that I just love. I pray that it meets you where you are and helps you get to where God is leading you.
I love you, dear friend.
Be blessed.
God Happened To ME Ministries, LLC 