I’ve lived with eczema for as long as I can remember; I’m one of the lucky people who never grew out of it. Steroid creams, ointments, and pills…no nail polish…always making sure my fingernails are trimmed. When it was really bad, I wore various gloves and mittens as I slept, but they always came off by morning from my persistent scratching. Doctors would look at my skin for five minutes tops before prescribing yet another cream. It’s a temporary fix, with risk of thinning my skin, and it wouldn’t take long for its effectiveness to wear off on my body.
Sometimes it is because my skin is too dry. Easy–just moisturize. Sometimes, it’s due to the unknown allergens I’m living with. Now that’s incredibly hard to pinpoint. It’s a ruthless cycle. I’ve had long periods of time where I’ve had no problems at all, and when something triggers a flare-up, it comes back in a flash.
Through the scratching, I’m left with scars all over my body–my hands, my legs, my arms, my torso. When I was younger, I was deeply insecure about my wounds. I didn’t particularly like summer. It meant shorts and swimsuits–things I tried to avoid at all costs. Not to mention that I’ve also had reactions to sunlight. I looked to my peers and longed to fit in. Longed to live carefree in my own skin without embarrassment.
Somewhere between high school and college, it no longer bothered me. I stopped hiding. But it doesn’t mean that those scars have disappeared.
During training camp, we prayed for emotional, physical, and spiritual healing. I shared about my skin problems, and as I received prayer for healing for the shame and embarrassment that came with it, tears flooded down my face. I honestly didn’t realize the depth of insecurity and brokenness that this had left me, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Concerns were voiced about what the World Race was going to do to my skin. Being in unknown environments was possibly the worst situation I could put myself in when dealing with eczema. It slightly worsened from month-to-month the first half of the Race, but my last five months were–for lack of better words–awful. In Bulgaria, something triggered me to suffer through 30 hours of scratching and pain. It’s a constant test of self-control. I had never experienced a flare-up so in-tents and thought it was going to last forever. I put on every cream or ointment I had and prayed fervently throughout the night and day. God taught me what it looked like to have complete trust in Him through my suffering. People at our ministry tried to help in several ways. I was extremely blessed in the way they cared for me.
Every time my skin would heal the littlest bit, something new would be introduced to cause another flare-up. It didn’t start to really show signs of healing until I returned to America. In the last few weeks, something has triggered it again. I’m praying and trusting that He will heal in one way or another and that I can finally get to the bottom of what’s causing it all.
Right now, I’m left with more scars than I’ve ever had in my life.
People and media flood us with the standard of what beauty should look like–both intentional and unintentional messages about the important of golden, smooth, and flawless skin. As much as I wish I can always rise above it, those powerful messages are tied with the lies that I’m not worthy enough. Not beautiful enough. Not desirable enough. No man will ever love me.
If you know me, you’ll know that I’m a glass half full (unless you’re thirsty) kind of woman. I’ve reasoned that the people who are willing to look past my flaws and love me anyway are the people who are worth my time. And many times, when I look at my skin, it reminds me of the literal pain I’ve gone through, the unthinkable amount of pain Jesus went through, and the endless amount of love and grace He has for me. It reminds me that the world is not perfect, but there’s still love in it. Sometimes the love experienced is richer because of it.
He tells me that His blood and His scars have covered mine.
He tells me that I’m unfathomably more beautiful than what I see and how I feel.
He tells me that He chooses me every day and wants to cherish me forever.
My scars are visible, but I believe that everybody carry wounds and insecurities or scars from them. If you reach deep down, it’s going to be there. It’s there because of the fall. It’s because the world is not perfect. Some scars are deeper than others. Some are barely visible while others can easily be turned back into a wound and pried open. But scars mean that some sort of healing is happening. His wounds have covered ours. He’s a God who heals and lavishes us with love. Whatever it is that you’ve carried or am carrying,
He says that His blood and His scars have covered yours.
He says that you’re unfathomably more beautiful than what you see and how you feel.
He says that He chooses you every day and wants to cherish you forever.
