Insignificant Things: Scars

Hidden behind clothes, a silvery line.

The line that held back life, that bore life.

The line that broke me, that changed me, that remade me.

The line that my flesh bulges around. 

The line that stole my firm youth.

Insensitive to touch, inflexible to movement.

Paining me at times when I least expect it.

The scar that rough hands pulled apart and sewed back up.

Four times.

There were days that scar defined my failure.

Years it robbed me of joy, a reminder of my inadequacies.

Not womanly enough, not strong enough, not capable enough.

But today I honour the scars. 

I honour the scars that brought forth souls, that I love.

I honour the scars that gave me more than they took from me.

I honour the scars that taught me humility, empathy and dependency.

I honour the scars that birthed, not just children, but a mother.

Scars have been the teacher, and I the student. 

For too long I have been ashamed of them and rejected them. 

I have hated them and hated myself because of them.

But hand on my womb, today I say thank you.

And I honour this flesh that did a miraculous work even as it was torn apart.

I honour their part in my story.

What scars do you need to honour today? How have they shaped your story? Christ’s physical scars were in every way part of his story, even in his resurrected body they could be recognized. In what ways can you reclaim your scars as part of His greater story being worked out in your life?