I have some wounds that took a time to heal. My healing was, well, messy to the untrained eye. Abstract like scars angry, thick and red…

Scars are external, but they’re also internal. My internal wounds are still pretty raw. Blood trickles from these wounds. Words make them sting, and mean actions tear them open. Rehashing the hurt turns my mind into a pendulum swinging between stable and irrational.

I think, “When will I heal?! When will this pain stop?!”

My inner reasoning retorts, “Unfortunately, there is no concrete answer to this question. Scar healing times vary. The length of time it takes a scar to heal depends on how much tissue was damaged, the age of the person and the location of the injury, all of which require patience on your part.”

“I get it – healing isn’t some generic process. It’s individualized, and healing times vary. I’ve heard ‘Good things come to those who wait…’ ” My thoughts trail off. Reluctantly, I wait because redemptive healing is a journey.

Reasoning blasts me back into the war within my mind: “A proc·ess1 is a series of actions, changes, or functions bringing about a result. Scars are typically ugly as they go into the healing process.”

“My scars are ugly! Too ugly to hide anymore.”

I remember the day I told my family about my rape. Weeks before my counselor and I had talked about how I would tell them. I wondered and waited. One day I decided I was ready, so I sat down and wrote an email. But, the tug of war hadn’t relented and those voices in my head fought back, “No…this will be too painful for them. What will they think and say when they read your email?” That email sat for several more weeks. And then a day in April came. That was the day I was going to hit ‘Send’. I needed to hit ‘Send’! I had been hiding my scars for much too long.

You see, I had been wounded for nearly ten years. A cold January night in Denver, Colorado, changed my life forever. My job took me out West with some coworkers. That night we drank too much. At some point, I woke up in a room with a man I barely knew. He threw me on the bed and raped me. I tried to get him off, but the effects of the alcohol and his bigger posture made it impossible. When he was done, he threw my clothes at me and shoved me out the door. Hitting the wall, I lay in a heap in a hotel hallway staring in disbelief at the new label of ‘Rape Victim’ plastered all over my broken body.

Because of the pain, I drank heavily for months, which turned into years, until I had repressed any thought of Denver far into the depths of my psyche. Nine and a half years later, while listening to a Christian podcast, that horrific moment burst full force into my awareness.

Months of therapy followed. I was on a train I so badly wanted to stop riding. Finally, on that day in April, the train came to a screeching halt.

I hit ‘Send’. The calls came and the tears ran. There, Jesus wiped away every tear; He collected them one by one. He held my hand, stroked my hair and whispered, “Shhhhh…it’s o.k. I’m right here. I know it’s not fair what happened to you. But, I was there. I saw you. I will turn that night around and make it good: I WILL REDEEM YOU.” From the outside, that day was like a gaping wound, but something was happening. My wound was slowly, ever so slowly, starting to heal…

Shortly after the calls from my family, the fog slowly began to lift and the epiphany came. My mind drifted straight to Jesus. He was God-made-human two thousand plus years ago. He felt the same pain we suffer. Physical pain and emotional pain left Him with many scars. His most painful wounds gave us life and ultimate healing.

As I pondered my thoughts, I heard a faint calling of ‘By His wounds, we are healed…’ Those words were like salve, penetrating deep into my soul. In that moment, the revelation found in Isaiah 53:5 became so clear.

Staring at my scars, God in turn showed me His Son’s nail-scarred wrists as a reminder of Who paid for my sins in full. God’s promises lifted my eyes to my Savior: Jesus, our high priest, who “entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption” (Hebrews 9:11-12). The precious blood of Christ purchased our acceptance and approval. “Nothing can separate us from the love of God” (Romans 8:38-39). No matter the scars we wear from our past—on our best day or on our worst—”there is no condemnation for us in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). Jesus paid the price; now my part was to fully accept His sweet gift of redemption from a night with which the enemy hoped to ruin me.

In a complicated world, I called out to Jesus for redeeming grace of scars from cruel people, painful words, bad choices, debilitating addictions, unending guilt, crazed thoughts and most importantly bondage to sin. Simply put, in Jesus we all have forgiveness of sins, eternal life, freedom, and righteousness because of Him. We go from being slaves to sin and the hopelessness of this world to being called forgiven, holy, justified, free, adopted and reconciled.

No, it’s true; your scars may never fully disappear, but consider the words found in Galatians:

“From now on, don’t let anyone trouble me with these things. For I bear on my body the scars that show I belong to Jesus.” Galatians 6:17 (NLT)

…scars angry, thick and red. There’s beauty in the blood He shed.