my favorite scar


When I was ten I fell on a piece of glass and sliced open my left hand.
The scar is thick and a little lumpy because I waited too long to get stitches.
On my other hand is larger white scrappy scar from a bike injury. The involved me trying to beat the boys.
My knees are thick with scars. More bikes, tennis courts and plain old clumsy.

My son has a few already and he gladly shows them off.
They are a testament to his toughness.
The one on his back shows that he did in fact survive jumping (and falling off the bed).
There is one on his chin that the ER doctors glued shut – we no longer practice diving in the bathtub.
And a little one on his hairline that received a few staples.

But I have a favorite scar.
It is about 6 inches across and marks a thin pink raised line across my lower abdomen.

My son’s delivery ended in an emergency c-section.
After all the pushing and blood I really didn’t care how he got here.
Even if it involved slicing across my belly and eventually 19 staples.
Every nurse that came in and checked me commented on the incision.
They kept saying how neat it was and that it would leave a nice scar.
A nice scar.
I kept thinking they were crazy. That this was just their trained way to make people feel better. They kept saying that I could even wear a bikini if I wanted.
I wondered if they had been taking some of my morphine.
But the line was clean and neat and shrunk considerably even by my one month check up.

The second time around it was a little more scheduled.
My doctor encouraged another c-section so that I wouldn’t repeat what had happened the first time.
I didn’t need much encouragement.
Contractions weren’t fun.
So I had another c-section.
This one, was planned but wasn’t so easy.
There was a lot of scar tissue and she had some trouble stopping the bleeding.
This time, no one told me that I had a neat incision or that I would end up with a pretty scar.
Instead they just billed me for extra ER time and gave me plenty of morphine.

But still the staples came out and it shrunk down considerably. This time a little thicker, a little curved at one end and at least an inch longer.
I could still feel pain there for almost a year.
And occasionally it is still a little sensitive.

Occasionally I still trace my finger over this little pink line and amazed that my two children entered the world here.
It isn’t pretty.
It doesn’t say anything about toughness. If anything, my lack of.
I don’t show it off proudly like my son does with his scars.
But I treasure it.

And I believe that Jesus was fully man once.
That he scraped knees and chins like the rest of us.
I’m sure he had his share of scars.
I don’t even want to think about the ones on his back.
And I’m just speculating.
But I imagine, sometimes, Jesus probably looks down at his hands.
Where the nails used to be, touches them tenderly.
And treasures those scars.
And the life that came from them.


Bigger Picture Moment

This post is part of bigger picture blogs..........and attempt to find the bigger picture in our crazy week and look for faith along the way. Check out some of the other posts Hyacynth's blog.

6 comments:

Hyacynth said...

Those scars are reminders of the lives you bore ... no wonder they are your favorites.
And Jesus' scars ... it's hard to even imagine the ones from the cross ... knowing my own sin put them on His body. Thank God for His grace and for making a way.
{Also, I didn't see you linked today on my page.}

suzannah {so much shouting, so much laughter} said...

and by his striped we are healed. incredible.

this is such a lovely meditation.

Young Mom said...

Beautiful.

Vanessa said...

Wow, the last part of your post made my eyse teary. Its all so true... Thank you for sharing

Erin said...

Beautiful way to tie it all together.
I feel the same about my stretchmarks. They're not perfect and they don't always look pretty, but they mean so much.

Stacia said...

The best scars ever are the ones that brought more love into the world. I'm glad you cherish yours!