In June of 1965 I donned the cap and gown and marched across the stage at my high school graduation and ventured into adulthood. I was a very young 18-year-old boy who so wanted to be a man. My future direction was very unclear to me. I was more concerned about acne and the love of my life, Glenda Ellsworth. I had always excelled in math and science so made a decision to enroll at the local community college as chemistry major.
The war in Vietnam was ramping up, and any young man who did not have a school deferment was on his way to the battlefront. Now, I love America but preferred Bunsen burners and flasks to guns and bullets. I must confess that my heart was not really in the educational process. It was a daily struggle to discipline myself to study and prepare.
It was in my second year of my endeavor that I had a life-changing experience. It was a lab for a quantitative chemistry class where it all came down. I was testing a compound by adding a few drops of concentrated nitric acid. Nitric acid is a nasty liquid that requires a great deal of care. As I picked up the dropper bottle, my hand brushed my neighbor's ring stand, an apparatus used to heat up compounds. Even though it did not look like it was hot, it was extremely hot. The natural consequence was for my hand to involuntarily release the dropper bottle. It was like one of those slow motion sequences as I saw the bottle drop to the counter top. The stopper flew off and a stream of nitric acid spread over me from the top of my head to about my waist. As I rushed to the eye fountain, I blurted out that I had spilt acid on myself. The room became deathly quiet. The professor immediate doused me with a neutralizer.
Most of my burns were minor. The most shocking part was to see the acid burns on my glasses. They saved my eyes. Because of the intense pain, I did not notice the large damp spot on the leg of my pants. It was a long journey to walk across campus to the nurse's office. It was there they found the large acid burn on my leg.
Most of the scars are not noticeable these days except for the large oval-shaped scar on my leg. The pain is gone, but the reminder of the events of that day remain. It was not very long after that incident that I decided that perhaps chemistry was not my thing, and I began to consider God's call to pastor. I have reflected from time to time about that painful experience and wonder why it had to happen. I cannot blame it on God, but perhaps He did use it to steer me in HIS direction for my life.
We all have experience like this where we have been put through an extremely difficult time. It may have been physically. More likely it was relational or psychological. Just like the physical experiences leave scars so do the traumatic things of life. What do we do with scars? It is our natural tendency to hide them, covering them up with some kind of cosmetic covering. It is hard to admit we are scared. Put on the happy face and say things are super!
You see, in the body of Christ, scars are to be shared not hidden. They are opportunities to help others avoid or deal with those same types of difficult times. I can point to the scar on my leg and tell a young person, "be vigilant and careful, be observant of your environment." Maybe your marriage fell apart, or you were abused in some form. Perhaps you wandered outside of your marriage and had an affair. Perhaps God can use you to rescue someone who is about to make the same blunder. Your scars cry out to others, "learn from my mistakes my experience and keep yourself safe from harm." The Bible says in 2 Corinthians 1:4, "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." You have been specially prepared to comfort others through and due to your trouble.
Hey, I will show you my scar if you show me yours!
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