Scar Stories

How many scars do you have? Have you ever taken the time to count them? Maybe you have one on your knee from the time you fell learning how to ride your bike. Maybe you have one on your hand from the time you were burned cooking dinner for that very special occasion. I find it interesting that every scar has a story attached to it. I’ve never talked to a person that had a scar magically appear out of nowhere without them knowing exactly when and how it came to be. In most cases, the stories behind our scars carry a shameful connotation, with a certain level of trauma associated with them. That’s why we can always recant our scar stories as if the event had just happened, although years may have since gone by.

Flesh wounds usually tend to heal pretty quickly, and in some cases, once the wound heals, it barely leaves a scar. On the other hand, emotional wounds tend to cut deeper, hurt longer, and bleed heavier than the wounds that mar our flesh. Some people even reach an emotional impasse when it comes to the traumatic events that caused the wound in the first place. Growth and progression can even be halted as a result of emotional pain, fear, and anger (among other issues). Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines a “scar” as a mark left (as in the skin) by the healing of injured tissue. I’m willing to say that this is how we most commonly think of scars. However, there is another definition:

“A lasting moral or emotional injury”

Our hearts are designed to be the seat of our emotions. From our hearts, come our life “issues” and how we perceive our world; this, in turn, determines the truth that we live in. In essence, our emotions tend to color our perceptions about life, about others, and about ourselves. Part of maturing in Christ involves knowing how to separate our emotions from the vital decisions that we must make on a daily basis. Whether it’s responding to a family crisis, or responding to a co-worker, we must constantly work to keep the emotional skies of our hearts pristine and clear. That’s why the Bible states in Proverbs 4:23:

“Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life”

Even in this, however, things can sometimes blindside us emotionally. Unlike our physical bodies, that begin the healing/immune response immediately upon injury (i.e.-clotting), sometimes our hearts don’t even realize when we’ve been injured emotionally. Often, it’s not until we’ve had time to process a particular series of events do we begin to feel “some kinda way.”

Beloved, I feel an urgency to encourage you right here…right now. Lift your head up. You are NOT what happened to you…you are who you choose to become. As you’re reading these words, I speak healing into your life today. As people of faith, we believe and receive by speaking…so what are you saying?
Yes…your wounds will heal. Yes, they may leave a scar, but not all scars are bad.

A few weeks ago, as I was checking in at the front desk of my gym for a workout session, a conversation ensued between myself and one of the trainers on staff. She was a tall, athletic woman with a jovial personality. After our initial introduction, she told me that she would probably ask for my name a few more times because she didn’t have any short-term memory. Initially, I thought she was being mildly facetious, so I chuckled at her remark. That’s when she repeated what she had said initially, and proceeded to inform me that she was a brain cancer survivor. “Some years ago,” she said, “I underwent surgery to remove a tumor from my brain, which obliterated my short-term memory.”

As she was telling me her story, she proudly turned her back to me, and parted her hair to reveal a scar that traveled from the top of her head down to the base of her neck. That’s when she told me that her scar is a reminder that she survived what should have killed her.

I was taken aback a little bit, because I wasn’t expecting that to be her story. Just looking at her, I would have never imagined that she had experienced that. This set off all kinds of bells and whistles in my mind, and gave me a whole new perspective on the things that we suffer. So, I say to you, your scars are a sign of healing. What once was a gaping, gushing wound, is now proof positive that you’re a survivor. Our scars tell a story of past pain and trauma, but they also testify to the fact that the pain no longer has power over us. Never allow the shame of what happened to you offset the glory that shall be. Your story innately contains a healing salve for others.

It may be true that some scars carry a shameful story, but some scars are salvific, because they bring salvation and healing to others. Where would we be if Jesus had never been scarred? Think about the scars in His hands and His feet….the wound in His side. Not every scar is a mark of shame; some are considered a badge of honor. They tell a story of survival, salvation, and grace…of what could have happened, but didn’t. It matters not the story behind your scars, just be encouraged and know that you survived what tried to kill you, and now you have a story to tell…

So, what will your story be?



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Silver sun and platinum skies

remind my eyes to see

Oh, what I wouldn’t give

to be a bird in flight

in unseen winds

whistling melodies from heaven.

Where does the wind hurry off to

as he tickles the leaves?

Trees blush as he rushes by

trying to make it home before the sun sets

and the street lamps come on

We seem to have lost our sight

blinded by artificial light

Our minds refuse rest

shunning sweet sleep

Foreign to us is life’s wonder

The stars of Sagittarius

and the twinkle of Orion

God’s galaxy

has been hijacked

by Samsung’s Galaxy,

iPads, iPhones, and iWatches

as our eye watches

what can never bring us true sight-

true light

So I choose to turn it all off

and fade to black

I listen to sweet nothings

whispered in my soul;

A lullaby written just for me by the setting sun




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A Piece of God–Mother’s Day 2015

This poem is dedicated to my mother, Gale Evans.  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!!


When life is dark and there’s no sign of day

I feel for God in hopes He’ll light my way

It’s difficult to see how far I’ve trod

But in you I always see the light of God


When happy thoughts and memories flood my heart

I think about the things you did impart

You sacrificed so I could have a chance

To make my mark and boldly take my stance


Your love has been a rock that’s tried and true

As for holding things together, you’re the glue

I’d never be the man I am today

If not but for your love and God’s great grace


I often think about the times I’ve failed

The moments where it seemed my hopes had sailed

I suddenly saw before I lost all faith

In you God placed Himself upon display


Mother, you are my  gift from God alone

More valuable than any precious stone

Whenever I can’t see what’s pure or true

I’ll always have a piece of God in you


© 2015 Brian Evans. All rights reserved



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Morning Rain


Spring rains fall swiftly

as  the green leaves sweat rain drops-

The earth’s thirst is quenched


© 2015 Brian Evans. All rights reserved



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Where Roads Once Were

This poem was inspired by a chance sighting of two couples during one of my daily lunch breaks.  One couple was visibly in love as they were engaged in an embrace during their lunch date.  Moments later, in the same vicinity, I witnessed another couple that seemed to contrast the first in every way, as a public argument ensued between them.  The contrast was quite poetic as I pondered the journey from one end of the love spectrum to the other.  The following is the resulting muse.

There once was a road named “Forever”

traversed by love-ladened drifters

burning with blissful abandon

entranced by the fragrant figment

of a fairy-tale ending

Their fingers intertwined

into a lover’s knot

reflecting the contents of a lover’s heart

The road so smooth

The path so clear

No cracks, no bumps, no potholes near

But lovers become strangers

as the sands of time

turn the “tic” of bliss

into the “tock” of burden

the pant…




The road named “Forever” dead ends

neglected by the feet of fidelity

Streets of gold

fade to dirt roads

fraught with the souls of arguments

that died in antiquity

being conjured up repeatedly

now haunt the contemporary

Love whispered in its infancy

“i’ll never hurt” you

“i’ll always love” you

But as love grows older

it tends to grow colder

shouting over and over



and before hands can heal the wounds

words wound again

siphoning fresh blood from year-old scars

The pain decays but never really dies

as the golden vow lies

in the dirt

where roads once were


© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved


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Ripples (Haiku)

Warm, quiet waters

ripple on the lake’s surface-

the fish leaps up high


© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

Original Haiku in observance of National Poetry Month


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Devil In Me

She clutched her purse with fear as I passed by

And took her blue-eyed baby by the hand

As “Come to Mommy, Dear” was her command

I wondered why this fear had gripped her eye

It seemed as if the Devil had come nigh

Straight from Hell, that God-forsaken land

I looked around and tried to understand

But when I saw no one, I realized

In truth I bear, it seems, the Devil’s stain

Upon black skin, a curse for all to read

Though I carry in my soul God’s resumé

And in my heart I hold angelic seed

But to the blue-eyed baby that fear has claimed

It will always be the Devil she sees in me


© 2015 Brian L. Evans.  All rights reserved

Original Petrarchan Sonnet



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Editor: Jaime Evans


My American Dream

Tip toeing on tight ropes

taut from the tension

between weathered hopes

and tattered dreams

I teeter


inches above Hell

and miles from Heaven.

My own screams

from the prisons

of past decisions

awaken me from

My American Dream.


Horizons of happiness

always within sight

taunting my reach

rise and fall

as streams of thought

become tributaries of consciousness.

Will I ever be free to dream

My American Dream?


I Guess I’ll brew my own brand of joy.

On liquid wings I soar

to my crystal blue palace

on a mountain top horizon

far from brutality

and Homeland INsecurity

I fly high.



evaporating wings

cause flight to fail

as my fall goes unnoticed

I accelerate

to 9.8

meters per second squared.


Spiraling from height to depth

from life to death

the ground reaches up to break my fall.

I brace myself

for the impact

of my back upon my bed



“Am I dead?”


My heart slows its beat

as brief relief

turns to ennui and grief

when I awake to

My American Dream


© 2014 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved


This poem was inspired by the events surrounding Jonathan Ferrell; who was shot and killed on September 14, 2013, by Randall Kerrick, a North Carolina police officer.  He was unarmed.



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Editor: Jaime Evans


Synthesis of Us

Were the seas made deep to hold Earth’s showers

Or were the rains of spring made for the seas?

Were the honeybees made for the flowers

Or the flowers made for the honeybees?


Were your caramel kisses made for my lips

Or were my lips made to cradle your kiss?

When your curves mingle with my fingertips

It releases the Eros of pure bliss.


Was your delicate voice made for my ears

To whose sound I’ll gladly listen all night

And was my fragile life made for the years

that your presence fills with love’s paradise


Like flowers to bees, and rain to sea

This is the unity of you and me

© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved


BE Sig

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Editor: Jaime Evans

The Alchemy of Love


by the Siren’s song

we long to sail the seas of love.

The lyrical mirage of

“Happily Ever After”

becomes the captor

of thirsty hearts.


Hypnotic heat

caused by a dearth of fathers

produces fallacious figments

of the “birds and the bees”

the flowers and the trees

Love is a beautiful liar


who crafts her magnum opus

upon the canvas of desire, and

just when we’re close enough

to feel the fire

it expires


leaving us frozen in

the frigid prison of

a journey insignificant.

Yet, the Siren sings


until at last we crash

upon the jagged edge

of reality’s rock.

Shattered fantasies and

remnants of what once carried us

now carries us

into love’s true reality


Beyond the illusory

Beyond the fantasy

Beyond the “happily”

Beyond the beauty

lies this alchemy…


There is no better death than love.


© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

BE Sig

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Editor: Jaime Evans