Yesterday, my new team and I arrived in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. We traveled via bus. It was nice to see different parts of Costa Rica.
This morning, it was raining pretty hard, so our hosts decided we would stay in for ministry today. We are living in a jungle for 2 weeks, serving a Youth with a Mission base. Some of the work for the day included, woodwork and painting. For the morning, I was in the group to stain pieces of wood to a reddish color, which would later be used to build different types of furniture. As soon as our host showed us the stainer and the wood, I asked about gloves and how to protect our hands. I’m not the type who doesn’t like to get dirty, but I had an experience in Lesotho (Month 4) where I got a weird paint stuck on my hands for a few days. It wasn’t a big deal, just annoying.
Fast forward to this morning! All we had for supplies were “garden” gloves and pieces of cotton to stain the wood. After just 1 piece of wood, I felt the stainer through the gloves. I took off the gloves to check, and like I had verbalized before we started, my fingers were stained dark red.
As I stared down at my hands, I had a flashback to when the worst wounds from my self-injury days started to heal. At that time, I was so numb to life that it didn’t even click in my head that the scars could be permanent. Here I am over a decade later and my scars are just a part of my story, even though I’m no longer the struggling teenager. I’m 34. I’ve had career jobs. I have a Masters degree. I’ve been walking with Jesus for a long time.
BUT, there I was, still facing fears. For the first time in over a decade, I’m looking down at my hands and seeing blood, not the stainer, being reminded of one of my past nightmares that came true.
See, people look at my scars and immediately judge me. I should be used to it, after all I’m often also judged by my skin color and hair texture. Yet, what I internalize the most are the looks, comments, and questions I get about my scars. In the States, this just means I wear long-sleeves everywhere I go.
Here on the Race, it’s so hot and humid that wearing long sleeves is often too much, so I don’t. I’ve gotten to share my testimony in Africa because of someone asking about my scars. Most times though, I’m really good at hiding my left arm, in photos or just going up to talk with someone, I can usually position myself so people don’t notice the scars.
Part of the panic this morning was because now I have stains on both of my hands. I knew in my head that the stains wouldn’t be permanent, but I realized later that I subconsciously “freaked out” because I’d have to hide even more of myself than I already do now with the stains. After crying and being angry at myself, the Holy Spirit reminded me of how far I’ve come. He reminded me that it’s okay to struggle and feel sorry for myself, but I can’t stay stuck in that pit. I need to recognize where I was and continually thank God for His mercies and loving-kindness and for bringing me out of that dark pit.
Psalm 40 says my heart-cry best:
God stooped down to lift me out of danger
from the desolate pit I was in,
out of the muddy mess I had fallen into.
Now he’s lifted me up into a firm, secure place
and steadied me while I walk along his ascending path.
A new song for a new day rises up in me
every time I think about how he breaks through for me!
If it wasn’t for the Lord, I wouldn’t even be serving in Costa Rica right now. I’m forever grateful for being lifted out of that dark “pit” all of those many years ago. I’m thankful that the red stains on my hands are a reminder of what was and not of what is! I’m not that numb, depressed person any longer. God has lifted me out and given me joy for mourning and praise for the spirit of heaviness.
If you are reading this and thinking it’s you in a dark pit right now, I encourage you to cry out to God, humbly and sincerely. I am a witness that He will answer. He will lift you up and out. You’ll look back and think Wow, I’ve come far. Please know that you are not alone. There’s help! There’s hope!
In courageous faith and for His glory alone,
Sharon
