Show Them Your Scars

by Janois Grizzaffi

You can show your scars as proof that you have been hurt,
or you can show your scars as evidence that you are healed. 

My first scars came from a house fire. 50% of my tiny, two-year-old body was burned when a hot water heater blew up. My older brother saved me, but the scars cover my arms, legs, back, and face, and left bald spots on my head.

When people would see me with scars and no hair, they would typically stare.
My momma would always tell me, “Show them your scars.”
I think it was her way of preparing me for a lifetime of double takes and questions. 

After that, I remember it actually feeling good when people would touch my scars...
the way it feels good to tell my story.

Sharing has a way of releasing worry and letting others see how God has worked to heal you. 

That’s how I got my physical scars, here is where the rest came from:

I remember standing in the welfare line at five years old. Momma had a house full and she worked hard to make ends meet. 

As a young girl, I was molested. I never did tell Momma. 

My biological father committed suicide when I was nine years old.

My mom remarried a strong-willed, hard-working man. I learned valuable lessons from working long days on his shrimp boat, but that came with a price. I have numerous memories of having to intervene in physical fights between the two.

When I was 18, this man...the only man I ever knew as a “father”…was murdered by the same person who had burglarized our house the week prior.  This started years of mixed emotions and confused grief that were quickly overshadowed. 

At 21,  I took on raising my 16 year old sister.
After our struggles, I remember feeling accomplished watching her walk across the stage and receive her diploma. 

Throughout my childhood and despite my trials, I was still a good kid and had good friends. I did well in school, made good grades, received awards, and graduated 5th in my class. I went on to get hired as a jailer at the local Sheriff’s Office, where I worked my up to being a police officer and on to many ranks.

I focused on being a good person, not thinking much of what my true purpose was. 

Then, I had my daughter. Another good thing. 
When she turned five, I remember wondering:
Who am I? 
What am I even doing?
What do I need to be doing?
What is life really about?

That led to two years of searching for answers, making bad decisions, and ultimately going through a divorce.
Although I had a great job, good friends, and a wonderful daughter, I was never fulfilled and never felt filled. 

I forced my focus back to being good.
Being a good parent, employee, neighbor, and friend. 
...but being good and doing well wasn’t enough to keep my feet grounded and my faith planted. 

Meanwhile, my daughter became involved in the Winfree Baptist Youth Group. She came back from a summer camp on fire for God. I felt like any good parent would support their child’s spiritual journey, so we followed her to Winfree. 

I was deeply motivated by Ashlyn’s newfound passion and my own eyes started seeing glimpses of God. 
...and then my third marriage fell apart. 

I was tired. Tired of searching. Tired of just being good.
Tired of not feeling fulfilled and not being filled.
Tired of walking around covering up wounds and scars. 

In October 2011, I went to a Rita Springer concert.
That was the first time I ever raised my hands in worship.
With my scarred arms held high, I fully surrendered. 

That’s when I realized that the only way I was ever going to be truly healed and fulfilled was by being obedient and living the life that God has purposed for me. 

I began taking one step at a time towards Him.
I listened for His voice and read His Word.
I started being obedient, not just good. 

...and then I was demoted at work and my salary decreased by $20,000 overnight.
I was a single mother to one child in college and another in elementary.
The rejection stung, but the hurt was different this time 

Before I felt the pain, I knew God would heal me.
I knew I would be okay.
I knew that He loved me.
I knew He would provide for me.
My scars were proof that He had done it before and He would do it again.
And He did, in huge ways. 

Looking back, I can see that all along God was with me.
He was with me in every fire and through every trial.
He was with me when I searched for healing in the world.

My scars remind me of my healing. They remind me that God was with me and is with me.
They are physical representations of the emotional fires that He has walked me through.
They remind me that no matter what may come, He will be there and He will work it into His plan.

God is writing my story and He is using every single line for His good. 
He knew the pain I would endure, but He also promised to heal me for His purpose. 

I have been able to share my story with friends, family members, and victims as a testament of God’s goodness and grace. I have been able to share my scars to show that even in the fire, God is with you.
Even in the fire, God is faithful.
Even in the fire, you are loved. 

What scars do you have?

Don’t fall victim to the pain in your story, but allow God to use your scars to give others hope.
Show them to others as proof that God can and will heal you from what has hurt you. 

Give Hope. 
Give Glory. 
Show Your Scars.
Share Your Story.