I often think of myself as a sturdy, ancient oak, tucked away in the still quiet of the forest.  I have many scars, but I believe each and every one is a part of the necessary affliction to be overcome and has gotten me to where I am today.  Each scar, like the markings of an oak tree, is a measure of my inner growth displayed for the world to see.

Today, I did something I have never done.  I stood naked from the waist up in front of the worn and cracked wall mirror of my prison cell.  My reflection stared back as if to say, “I’ve waited for you to notice me for quite some time now, my friend.”  All I could do was stare back.  I was covered from neck to feet in prison tattoos, the fleshly billboard of places I’ve been and all the moments I wanted to capture beneath my skin through self-expression.  My reflection resembled so many other men locked away within these cold walls.  But, I knew the truth as I stood staring; I’d been hiding behind so many scars for so long, and I wanted to finally crawl out from behind them, once and for all.

I lifted my arms to see more and explored the ink of my torso.  My fingers traced the now mature scars where breathing tubes had once been inserted into my chest, and I went immediately back to my childhood where I’d suffered abuse at the hands of a violent stepfather who nearly took my life at the age of eleven.  I stood for a moment, reliving what it felt like to struggle for my last breath because my lungs had been collapsed by a vicious monster who had married my mother and beaten me often as a child.  He was an addict who took his pain and suffering out on my brother and mother as well, and he left a scar I could not cover with a simple tattoo, no matter how hard I tried.

Reality began to set in, and I was back in the confines of my 13×13-foot man-made cage, realizing thirty-one years have gone by.  I was incarcerated most of my life, as a juvenile and adult, and “time” has started to wear on me.  I may not have been in this very cell, but I have been in countless replicas where I’ve awakened each morning for three decades – cold concrete walls that leak when it rains, and a mattress as worn as the folded up blanket at the end of my bed.  I am getting older, undeniably. 

Through it all, shines the illuminating shimmer of light from the window in the back of my cell, light that reflects on what I hold dearest, the faces of my beautiful wife and daughters taped to my wall.  Their faces, despite all that I have gone through, remind me that I am still alive in spite of my scars.  There is, in fact, life outside these walls, and I will see it again.  

As I stood continuing to stare at my bare torso in the reflection, I thought, “I’ve come so far, and each scar has taught me a lesson, inching me closer and closer to freedom.”  I’d run from many of my scars most of my life, and in that moment I was willing to face them.  I stepped closer, lifting both my hands to my face as the tears began to fall.  It was the first time in a long time I could remember actually crying.  In that moment, I felt it.  I felt it hard.  The courage began to swell up inside my chest, my hands covered in the tears that fell effortlessly, and the voice inside spoke to me.

“Keith, you truly are like that of an oak tree, and your life is measured by the scars you have been running from for so long.  You must stop and face them.  Learn how to embrace them if you are ever going to reach your greatest potential because that, Keith, is where you will heal the most.”

My knees began to lower to the cold concrete floor as the words echoed over and over again in my mind. I started to understand just what my purpose had been all these years, seeing through the tattoos that I’d hidden behind for so long, and it was what every human is brought into this world for – to live; to love and be loved; to learn and fail when necessary in order to learn from mistakes; and forgive ourselves as much as we are willing to forgive others.  I sat kneeling and broken, yet I could not feel more alive, stronger than I had ever been.  I wiped away the tears, stood up in my reflection, and felt it.  I felt like that of an oak in the forest, upright and standing tall for the world to see.  These scars are mine, as yours are to you, but we are all like trees in the forest; we may become scarred, but growth is inevitable.  Our measurement is not going to be by what caused our afflictions, but how we endure them, refusing to be torn down.

Push through whatever has or continues to cause you pain.  You will find your way, it will come.  Your reflection, when faced, will lead the way, just be ever willing to look closely in the mirror and see that tree in the forest.