Last week I saw a woman with several severe scars on her shoulders and across her chest.
I wondered what had happened to her…scars can tell stories without words.
She wore hers with great grace and beauty.
There was a very striking one on her décolletage; that beautiful area below the neck, where a woman’s heart beats just below the flesh and bone of her body.
This scar was the exact shape of a butterfly.
I read somewhere that scars should always be considered beautiful. Scars prove we prevailed through the pain, the fight, the suffering, the accidents, and the cruelty that this world too often offers.
Some scars are on the outside of our bodies, others are hidden deep within our souls. We wear some bravely, and others we cover with makeup or long sleeves, a smile and an “I’m fine, thanks.”
Because it can take some time to see the beauty of a fresh scar.
The scars we truly own, the ones we allow to make our stories more beautiful, they prove that we will not be defined by our suffering.
I looked at that butterfly scar on that beautiful woman and I stood in wonder at the way God can transform a wound into something stunningly new.
That’s called metamorphosis.
Scars may come at great cost, but they can birth strong and majestic wings that carry us above the fear of the worst that could happen.
Another set of scars came to mind just then. Scars that told a story that set me free.
Those scars were shaped like round nails, and were taken on with a love that makes the world go ’round.
I am cocooned in the tale of mercy and grace that those scars tell. His story has become my story, and His praise is my heart’s song when darkness surrounds me.
For I am loved, and I am safe, in the scarred hands of my Savior, who lets no pain go untended or unseen.
I may be wounded and the road ahead road may look ominous, but I am a woman emancipated.
My scars tell me that I am like a butterfly, and I will rise in His love.
There is nothing left to fear….
