When Scars Transcend Language

            As we walk into the womens alcohol rehabilitation center, I am exhausted from the Honduran heat blazing through the windows on many bus rides to downtown Tegucigalpa. The floors are damp and the air is stale and the gray walls are spotted with bible verses written on paper. We gather into the meeting room and sit on the torn couches and wait while the women fill the small space. The women who live here used to live on the street; most of the women were involved in drugs, alcohol, prostitution, or gangs and many of the women are pregnant or are single moms who are reaping the consequences of a life of drugs. My teammates, LB and Rachel, have to opportunity to share their testimonies and tell them of God’s love and then as usual, we begin worship. Now to put things into perspective, our team is the least musically inclined group of girls on the squad and half of us are suffering from tone deafness, so acapella was obviously the best choice, and the only choice. Yet, God showed us that instruments and beautiful voices are not needed to worship, but only full and thankful hearts which is what I saw radiating from each woman as they sang in Spanish and clapped to an scarce beat. My heart was so pulled to these women as they wrapped their arms around us and sang with a genuine love for Jesus. Then, one after another, the women lined up to share how God is transforming a life from the streets to a life of recovery and redemption.

            One girl who was most likely around the age of 18 had brown hair in a clip on the top of her head, wore a red long sleeve sweater, and had big brown eyes. She quietly raised her hand and shuffled to the front. She spoke shyly about living on the streets, joining a gang, sniffing glue, giving up her baby, cutting herself, and coming to the rehab center. Then she silently sat back on the couch and other women continued their testimonies. But something kept drawing me towards this girl in the red sweater, toward her story and her timidity. After we finished praying for the women, some dispersed and others stayed to socialize. I walked toward the girl in the red sweater. I held out my arms and displayed the evident scars that line my skin from 3 years ago when I took a razor blade to my wrists. She delicately touched them with no words and the peeled back the sleeves of her sweater to reveal deep wounds and scars from her cuts. I touched them lightly and hugged her tightly. No words were needed, for hurt transcends language, but love does too. My friend Cesar, who speaks English and Spanish approaches us, and he motions that it is time to leave. But before we do, I look her in the eyes and am blessed with the opportunity to speak to her through translation. “Do not be ashamed of your scars, they are now proof of God’s love for you.” I give her another hug and tell her that I would see her on Saturday when our team spends the night at the center to have “girls night.” The corners of her mouth perk upward in a faint smile and I wave goodbye.

            I have always known that my scars were a reminder of God’s goodness and grace in my life, but tonight I was able to see the direct fruit of God’s work and I was able to truly see what 2 Corinthians 12:9 means when it says “ ’My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”? Today, my greatest weakness was used for God's glory. What a beautiful thing that is.

           “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 1 Corinthians never said “love speaks,” it only testifies to actions. Words can be useful, but it is not needed to meet someone in their pain. It is enough to be present in a simple act of love and understanding; this is what God revealed to me today. Scars may transcend language, but love transcends scars, and God is love. This is the truth that we must proclaim to the men in La Kennedy on paint thinner, to the girls who cut themselves each night, to the children in English class, and to the families with vacation homes in Maui. Everyone has a story. Some have it written on their arms others have it written deep beneath their skin. Search for what it is, understand their scars, and point them to love. To Jesus.