Barbwire and Briars
I have a scar from some barbwire across my right forearm that’s been slowly fading since last spring. It goes nicely with the other scar that’s on the back of my left hand. Let’s not forget the dark red line from a gash on my shin due to smacking it against a sharp piece ofmetal. There’s also the one by my right eye from a mishap with a lawnmower from childhood. And don’t get me started about the deep scar on my thumb….
A couple of weeks ago I cut up a big oak tree that had fallen down during a recent ice storm. And as these things typically go, it fell down over a barbwire fence and into a briar thicket. This ultimately means that by the end of the day I was bleeding… in several places. Let’s face it, my arms looked like I got in a fight with a bobcat.
This is nothing new. In fact, it might be safe to say that I have some cut or scrape on my arms and hands more often than I don’t. The Red Cross and a gaggle of vampires would probably be envious of the amount of blood I’ve shed on this place.
I’m sure I could pull off a pretty stellar metaphor about this or maybe talk about the fact that some of the best things in life aren’t safe. But mainly the barbwire and briars around this place are a constant reality check. Some days are easy and other days make you bleed. All of which leave marks in your skin and in your soul. Don’t go down this path if you’re just looking for nostalgia. You will sweat. You will freeze. You will bleed. But, you will also know the limits of yourself and you’ll recount all the times you pushed through them and became stronger.
And those scars you wear will be the reminder of days of toil and signposts to the idea that it’s through struggle that we become better and stronger if we don’t succumb to the challenge.
You can do this.
In the meantime… live well… laugh often… love always.