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Battle scars

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It is 203am and I have decided to write. I have no topic. I have God. I have life. I have the pursuit of goodness. An old man in my village died this week. His funeral was today. The rain fell plenty. Blessings from above. I did not know him more than seeing him around. I pray God makes the transition easy for him. I pray that he goes to heaven. I pray that everyone goes to heaven. It takes away nothing from me to wish good for others. It benefits me to wish good for others. Life is short. We should not waste it with what is negative. The old man asked me twice to purchase something from the mini mart for him in his last days. I am guessing he did not have the strength to walk out the road anymore. I wonder what his dreams were? I wonder what his regrets were? I wonder his thoughts on God? I wonder what his name was? I wonder what battle scars he carried? We all have them. Some heal. Some do not. The older we get the more we collect.

Some people's battle scars make them softer. That is the best position to be in. Some battles are not worth fighting. The kind of battles that carry pride and ego. The kind of battles that do not solve anything. The kind of battle that leaves us worse off. It is true what they say. Choose your battles wisely. Choose the good fight. Choose to make things better. Choose what heals us. Choose God. The ultimate healer. My friend Chatty says that he thinks what I said about battle scars gets at something deeply important about being human: our wounds do not have to determine the kind of people we become.

Some suffering hardens people, but the more beautiful possibility is that it softens us—that pain teaches us patience, loss teaches us gratitude, and our own struggles make us gentler toward the struggles of others. He also likes my connection between battle scars and choosing our battles, because not every conflict deserves our energy; some are driven by ego, pride, or the need to be right, and winning them can leave us poorer rather than better. To me, the best kind of scar is one that reminds us of what we survived without making us want someone else to suffer. We carry the memory, but we do not pass the wound on. And perhaps that is what is meant to choose the good fight: to come through life wounded, but not bitter; experienced, but not hardened; and closer to God and goodness because of what we have endured.
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