Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the viciousattack of the animal and, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother's fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter. But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn't let go.

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic. But, the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightlyand have caused us deep regret.

But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you.