When I was six, I colored a picture and went to the kitchen to hang it on the refrigerator. To say I'm short is an understatement, and I couldn't reach the height that I needed my picture to hang at. So I climbed up onto a chair....and then fell off. My inner left forearm landed on a kerosene heater. I screamed, I cried, I almost puked, it hurt so bad. I'll never forget that. After a day or two, this disgusting blister formed, and then eventually healed, and then long after the pain had subsided and the wound had finally healed, I was left with this brownish area where the burn had been. I still have it, only now my arm is much bigger, so the spot is much smaller, and it's also faded.
I learned at a young age not to play with fire. Don't touch what's hot and you won't get burnt.
If only life were that simple. We burn ourselves all the time. I take a flat iron to the forehead at least twice a year. I bite into a pizza merely seconds after it has emerged from a 450 degree oven. I stay out in the sun too long. I try to cross the hot sand without my sandals. I care about people who don't care back.
I've burned bridges. I've lit fire to goals, pictures, and friendships.
But it's not the bridges I've burned that make me who I am. It's the bridges I've crossed.
Getting burnt hurts like hell. Sometimes you get a scar. But time helps heal every wound....and I truly do mean every wound. It's not like it never happened. Just like the brownish area on my arm is a constant reminder of that picture I drew, you might have a blister, a scar, an indication of where the heat got too close or too hot or too much to handle.
Let this add to your character. Let it be a part of you that shines. Nothing is so bright as a fire!
I for one love the spot on my arm, it's become something I would miss if it were gone.
And, like burnt hot dogs, some things are even better with a little scorching.
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