by Kinsey Kunkel
I once met a man who collected Scars;
As simply as young boys collect baseball cards.
He had a face unlike any that I’d ever seen.
And His warm, kind eyes held a twinkling gleam.
He said to me, “Child,” in a voice like hot tea;
Soothing and gentle and special to me.
I said to Him, “Sir, I know not who you are,
But I can’t help but ask why you collect Scars.”
He smiled so warmly, and opened His box
And I saw what was no mere collection of rocks
He told me, “These Scars once belonged to my friends
But I took them away when my time here did end.”
“This one that you see is the Scar of Loss
And used to rule many a good man’s thoughts.
And this one here is the Scar of Fear
Owned by those to whom danger is near.”
“There are still more, too many to name.
Like Anger and Hate and Sorrow and Pain.
These Scars are no things My friends should possess
So one by one, each of them I collect.”
I smiled at Him then, at the Collector of Scars,
And noticed, at His waist, the strangest of jars.
It was a Jar full of Darkness, I could not deny;
A foul creature with the blackest hide.
I could not quite tell, if ‘twas shadow or smoke;
The man followed my gaze and then He spoke,
“I see you have found the crowning jewel
The one that the other Scars seek for its rule.”
“This Scar is called Sin, and I am its Keeper.
I bear the burden for those who are weaker.
And some day when this realm is flooded with Light
This Scar will fade ‘til it’s no longer in sight.”
“For light conquers dark, it has always been so;
And dealing in absolutes won’t change, don’t you know?
And above all else, what Darkness fears most,
Is the never ending Light of the world’s gracious Host.”
“Yet until the day Sin must relinquish its grip,
This Jar of Darkness will remain on my hip.
So run along home and never you fret;
When you find a Scar, I will come to collect.”
And so ends the tale of the Collector of Scars
Who has willingly burdened Himself with ours.
So I leave you to ponder, and never forget
The one who must carry the Scars we beget.