PLAY UNAFRAID
Next week my son will step into athletic competition for the first time since his injury. It has been almost six months to the day.
And as he walks onto the field I will stand on the sidelines and will not have forgotten his crowd-silencing leg break or the way my hand rose to cover my mouth as I gasped at his fall. I will remember every moment he spent clawing back from injury to health. My son will remember them all, as well.
A rare fracture, eight long and pain-filled days waiting for surgery. Three screws to anchor the head of his tibia followed by a seemingly endless span of crutches and braces and physical therapy. A month of school missed, two seasons of sports surrendered. Countless appointments and exercises and battling back to what once was.
I will remember it all. But despite the pain that I remember, and the pain that I have watched him endure, I will NOT say, “Don’t get hurt again.”
His leg is solid, he’s taken time to heal. He’s rested, rebuilt, done the work.
Play, I will tell him. Play hard. I love watching you out there. Do life, I will want for him, I know you could get hurt again, but do life anyway, I love watching you out there.
Athletes should never play afraid.
Nor should life be lived that way.
Don’t get hurt again. How often does that cry echo through our life?
The sting of the pain of life is real, the memories, the stories. It’s no wonder we’re afraid, it’s no wonder we long to self-protect. But in the places where our wounds have truly healed, our scars speak a truth that outweighs fear.
My son bears a scar across the front of his leg, stretching inches from his knee down his shin. I hope it will remind him of his healing, I hope it will remind of the bone knit together underneath, I hope it will remind him that he rose again strong.
I hope my scars will do the same.
Life has given me some, as it has to all of us. But to the places where I have been healed, to the places where the etching on my skin signifies a movement forward from the past, to those places I hope my scars remind me of truth.
The truth that I am strong.
The truth that I have overcome.
The truth that I will always rise again.
I hope your scars remind you of the same. I hope they speak a truth that outweighs fear.
And as you venture out onto the playing field of life again, know that I am cheering for you. Do life, I long to say to you, I know the pain it can bring, but do life anyway, I love watching out there.
And out there is where you were meant to be. Strong and resilient. Wounded but whole again.
Superwoman is worth the rising, scars and all.