Scars

There was once a man who was caught in a war. He was not a member of the armed forces, rather he was a peaceful man that lived a simple life. Even with the rattling of guns and dull, echoing thuds of shells in the background, he did his best to continue his normal routine, as so many are in the habit of doing (after all, what more can one do?). That is, until one day a few years ago. He had been on the path, walking towards town, when the explosion came. The falling mortar made a fine whistling sound as it had fallen, reaching the levels of audible consciousness much too late to serve as any practical warning. He was knocked to the ground, unconscious. His body was bruised and broken; his right leg was no more.

When he awoke, in some ways the worst was over; in others, it was just beginning. At first, the trauma was too much for the man. It was weeks, months even, before he could do the most mundane of tasks - put on a shirt, hold a conversation, make a decision. Time is one of the greatest of healers, but it can never be rushed, not a bit. And so the man continued to struggle as time continued to pass.

Eventually it came time to begin therapy. He had to learn how to make do with his new body, learn how to substitute inanimate objects for what was once his own living, growing flesh. The sessions were excruciating, often seeming cruel and pointless. Progress was minuscule, and backtracking was a weekly occurrence. Every added ounce of pressure on his prosthetic sent needles up his spine and into his brain. Falling was worse, far worse.

The nurse did everything she could for the man. She fed him, encouraged him, held his hand after he relived the past year in his dreams. He was thankful, incredibly so, but no human could ever lift such a weight off another. "This is too much!" he would frequently say. "It's been years... and I can only stand on my own for an instant. This is impossible!" It's not impossible, the nurse would whisper. It is difficult, but I'm going to help you. I will support every last ounce that you cannot yet handle. Nothing more than that, for the more I do the less you will grow. But it is not only upon your own strength that you will get through this.

"Even so, this isn't fair. Haven't I already done my share? I was blown to bits, I lost my leg, the pain almost killed me. How can you ask me to bear even more?!" You are right, it isn't fair. But if the other side cared at all about fairness, there'd be no reason for the war in the first place. Fair or unfair, you must also face reality. For so many others, walking is effortless, practically subconscious, and yet they don't even think twice about it, let alone appreciate it. Yet if you are ever to walk again, you must work far harder than any of them ever have... just to be able to again do what they do.

"What's the point? Even if I'm able to walk again, I'll never get my leg back. I'm going to be crippled for the rest of my life." It is true, you will never again use that same leg. You will always have scars, and most likely will forever walk with a limp. And yet, you will walk. And you may not believe me now, but one day you will be a hero. Our General... He knows of the sacrifice this war has demanded of you, and of the long, dark road to recovery you've been treading. When we win (and win we most certainly will!), He will call your deeds to light, and He shall present you with your reward. Some even say He is capable of miracles! So, dear one, continue to persevere. The day is not far off!!

Yet for now the war is not over, and there are many for you to teach to walk...........