The Scars

A little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. He flew into the water, not realizing that an alligator was swimming toward him. His mother, in the house, was looking out the window and saw the alligator. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son. He tried to swim to his mother. As he reached her, the alligator reached him.

From the shore, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began a tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was too passionate to let go. A farmer heard her screams and shot the alligator. After weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were scarred by the attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother’s fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

A newspaper reporter asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs; and then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, ‘But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn’t let go.’

We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but, the scars of pain in the past. But some wounds are because the love of God refused to let us sin, causing us pain because we failed to fulfill our passions. God loves us but sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril and we forget the enemy is waiting to attack. That’s when the tug-o-war begins, and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very grateful. He did not and will not let you go.