As I stood before the red and yellow castle, my excitement was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my nine years of life. The castle was massive and vibrant, and the sound of laughter from inside made me eager to join the fun. The castle swayed gently from side to side as giggling girls and rambunctious boys bounced around inside. I had heard about these giant balloon-like party contraptions, but this one was larger than life! Thrilled, I kicked off my sneakers and made my way up the puffy blue drawbridge in my pretty pink socks with the delicate white pom-poms at the ankles.

There they were—the birthday girl and all our friends, laughing uncontrollably as they were tossed up and down inside the cushioned castle. I was mesmerized. I started to jump, and soon, I was bouncing along. As I climbed higher, the laughter grew louder. I was soaring when a bigger boy, about twice my size, stepped inside the castle. The other kids scattered, but I kept jumping. The boy looked at me and began bouncing—slowly at first. Every time he landed, I was tossed a little higher like an out-of-control rag doll. Then a sly smirk appeared on his face, and he gave it his all. He jumped down with such force that I was launched to the corner of the castle, like a clown shot from a cannon at the circus. My right knee slid across the castle’s thick inseam, and within seconds, blood was dripping down my leg and onto those pretty pink socks.

It was just a bad cut, but it left a scar. For years afterward, every time I ran my finger across that old injury, it still felt sensitive, and I would remember the excitement of seeing the bouncy red and yellow castle. The sounds of children’s joyful laughter would flood my memory, followed by the boy’s smirk and the blood. Oh, how I hate the sight of blood! Physical scars have a powerful way of creating tabs in our memory and reminding us of the pain we may have suffered. But those tabs are marked in our memories as a way of protecting us from getting hurt again. Think of a toddler burning his finger on a hot stove – that experience will burn in his memory and prevent him from making that mistake again (I just had to say it).

Emotional scars are not that different. Trauma can cut us in ways we never imagined or predicted. We may appear healed on the outside, but the recovered wound remains sensitive to the touch. A sound or a smell can trigger intense memories and feelings we thought were long buried. A hurting heart can lead one to hurt others, or isolate instead. Emotional gashes can leave us angry, bitter, and resentful if we refuse to address them.

Some of us may have scars we find unsightly, from a bad fall or some other accident. Yet others look at their scars with a sense of pride — they are reminded of the birth of a child or that life-saving procedure. Some scars can be beautiful. Think about this: our brilliant God designed our bodies to heal, so in essence, scars are victories over what was once broken. If our bodies heal from physical brokenness, then healing from emotional brokenness can be possible – with God.

Although we may not wish to relive the events that caused our trauma, consider this: the scars left behind can teach us about life’s fragility and the power of human resilience. Soul wounds have a way of imparting lessons, transforming our lives, and even sanctifying us. Scars cost us something.

Jesus’ body still bears the marks of the eternal life that He secured for you and me. When He looks at His hands and sees those scars, He thinks of you. You were all He focused on during His suffering at Calvary. The sight of the piercing to His feet and side bring a loving smile to His face, because He knows that He gave everything to save you. To Jesus, the scars are worth it because you are worth it!

I don’t like to think about the sexual assault I survived, that traumatic experience left me deeply troubled and broken for a long time. But I can say — more than 30 years later — the scars I carry from that dreadful night are beautiful. The scars led to a spiritual transformation and healing I did not think was possible.

Dear friend, if Jesus suffered for you, He certainly wants to help you navigate the scars you carry. No one understands your despair better than your Heavenly Father. It was only when I laid my scars at the cross before Jesus, that He could finally address my brokenness. 

Surrender everything to Him today — hand over the scars you were never meant to carry alone. In doing so, you will experience the tenderness of God’s transformation, the hope in His healing, and the refreshment of restoration.

“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” John 20:27 ESV