Do you have something you hold near and dear to your heart? Maybe it’s a trinket? Maybe a picture or even a tattoo? Something that can make you cry huge, overwhelming tears and smile all in the same breath? I do.
I have a scar.
This scar has been opened three times - once to remove my appendix and twice more to deliver my two girls. I love my scar. I love the multiple stories it tells. I love that it is there, on the outside, to remind me what went on inside and just how amazing our bodies are. It is proof of how amazing my God is. The aftermath each time always reminds me how precious life is and how beauty can be birthed from such ugly circumstances. I am thankful for this blemish and what it represents. For all the lessons it has taught and continues to teach. This scar gave me life. This scar gave me two more lives. It made me vulnerable to and immensely trusting of people, doctors and countless nurses, I hardly knew. This scar brought me closer to my family. This blemish taught me who my friends were. It means more to me than any tattoo. Contrary to popular practice, I don’t put any vanishing creams or oils on it to diminish it’s appearance. I hope it always stays. My scar is part of me. It has erased everything I thought I wanted in a “perfect body”. My scar is perfect.
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