scratch & save

“Scratch and Save” is an expression around here stores use to promote sales. They give you a coupon at the cash register which you scratch to uncover what your discount percentage is. I saw this sign the other day at a local retailer and this image popped into my head.

I’ve got scars. Scars from spiritual skirmishes.

You do too.

Which is why I like this blog, nakedpastor. We can show each other our scars. We can tell the stories behind each one. We can share with each other how we’ve survived. No. More than that! We can share with each other how we are more than conquerors.

We can encourage each other by saying we not only won the battle but are winning the war.

Buy the original cartoon drawing.
Buy a fine art print of this cartoon.

If you haven’t bought my book of cartoons, you simply must. It addresses concerns such as this. Nakedpastor101: Cartoons by David Hayward“, from,, Great for laughs and serious discussion!


6 Replies to “scratch & save”

  1. The world sinks its claws in to keep everything it can … reminds me of people who bury their ‘treasures’ with them when they die.

    Having had a ‘near death’-experience (i.e. I died, but only for a few minutes … losing a good many of my ‘blessed’ faculties (dexterity, agility, speed, etc.)), I know how ‘the picture AFTER the battle pictured’ feels—the glorious parts are gone beyond your reach, the remnant of what the world’s claws kept are a lifeless puddle of carnage … but–with patience–the puddle of flesh finds the breath of God need to make-due with the carnage’s leftovers! 0:-)

  2. I was thinking of something rather similar just the other day after reading a thread on one of your facebook posts that went down the ‘you’re just bitter’ path.

    I grew up with a rather rough home life, beaten pretty routinely by my alcoholic father, and even though I thought *my* life was pretty normal, after all you do get used to some things after awhile, I also had an undercurrent thought that somehow managed to whisper to me that I wasn’t like everyone else out there. All of my friends in elementary school seemed to know it while I didn’t, that something was wrong, all through high school, in fact. I always got the impression that I had this great big sign on my shirt that said “Pity Me” or something.
    It wasn’t until much, much later, like in my thirties that I began to realize that I’m not one broken soul among thousands of healthy souls, but rather I’m one broken soul among thousands of other broken souls. We all have those places where our parents, our situations, our religious backgrounds, our lives, whatever, have beaten us down, subverted our souls, and told us how much less than we are than everyone else out there.

    Getting to where I can recognize the grand scale of damage in nearly everyone else’s life somehow makes it that much easier to bare the hurts that I have, even if all I can do is give one more person the realization “it’s not just me…” that those other broken people gave me. It doesn’t seem like much of a gift (it didn’t at the time) but now I know how valuable it was.

  3. Gloria:

    I love what you said “I’m not one broken soul among thousands of healthy souls, but rather I’m one broken soul among thousands of other broken souls.”

    I’ve written a book about what I went through, and gave it to all my family members (still working on preparing it for a publisher so I can get it out to the world) and it was my way of sharing my pain, and like you said, letting others know that they are not alone.

    Continue to share because although our pain never completely disappears, and the scars pull constanly at our healthy surrounding skin, we are authentic survivors and worthy to tell the tale.

Comments are closed.