myopic pilgrim

She said: “You hurt me.”

I said: “If you hadn’t [done this to me] then I wouldn’t have [done that to you].”
I shoulda said: “i’m sorry.”

In my life, my current church has been my only church home besides the Roman Catholic Church. In the future, if my wife and I ever have to move, we’ll have the unenviable task of finding a new church. She has a little more experience in this, so I would rely heavily on her wisdom. Together we would ask questions of the church to help us reach a decision:

• Are they teaching the Bible?
• Is their worship true and spiritual?
• Will our needs be met here?
• Do we enjoy the music
• Will we be fed?
• Will there be services and programs that fit our family

But after asking those questions I’m tempted to go ahead and ask the next logical question: are they moderately priced?

Perhaps it’s a by-product of our capitalist economy,

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She said: “Oh, you have an underbite like Phoebe from high school. We used to imitate her all the time. Like this.” (Juts out lower jaw).

I said: “Oh, hm.”
I shoulda said : “So, right now are you making fun of her or me?”

When I was a kid I loved to read Garfield. More than a fat cat who loves lasagna and hates spiders, it was also about the owner, Jon Arbuckle, who had almost no luck with women. One strip has him on the phone getting turned down for a date. The girl already has plans she explains and Jon, dejected, hangs up the phone. The next panel has him wake up in the middle of the night saying, “But what if your brother already has plans! That’s what I should have said.” To which Garfield replies, “Ol’ Lightning Wit strikes again.

That comic strip and this site are about zingers we would have come up with if we were more witty. I’ll have some of that here, but I’ll also have other kinds of “shoulda saids,” like correcting faux pas.

There’s something about scars that suggest a story worth telling. It’s a story about a knife fight when they lived in Chicago. It’s from the time they took a dare and rode the mechanical bull. That burn mark is where a parent put out her cigarettes. Scars bear witness to the events. You can’t claim any great feat of prowess or close call or any worthy story without some bit of evidence like scrapes or stitches. No scars; no proof.

It’s said that after Jesus was resurrected from the dead he still had the scars from being
crucified and scourged. He used his scars to convince the disciples that he really was the same guy who had been with them for the last three years and the same man who hung on a cross. No scars; no proof.

Isaiah the Jewish prophet wrote, “By [Christ's] stripes [from whipping] we are healed” meaning that sinners may be forgiven because of his sufferings. Paul wrote that God demonstrated his love for us by Christ taking our place on the cross even while we were still in rebellion against him. I might ask, “How can I be sure God loves me?” Check out the holes in his flesh from the nails and spear. You see scars; you see proof.

Scars are nothing without the stories attached to them. Without the stories, scars are just discolored patches of skin. The scars themselves won’t make you more interesting. However taking chances, playing hard, experiencing life will—especially if you have proof.

My friend Bobby believes in a post-Armageddon world where a new earth and new heavens will completely replace the old world. “You know what will be left of the old world?” he asked me. He said that the only thing that will be left from the old world are the scars of Jesus: holes in his hands and feet and spear-pierced abdomen. I hope I keep my scars too. I will wear them like badges of honor, trophies of God’s deliverance through my hurt and trials. The broken world meant it for evil; God made it for good.

This entry contains edited portions of something I wrote in November 2001