Scars

I imagined having tea with Sarah, the mother of Isaac again...

She sat in her usual spot on the porch and as she sat, I saw a scar on her leg. I asked her where it came from and she proceeded to tell me the story. Then I asked her if it was before or after Isaac and she replied with, “Oh it was decades before, sweetie. When it first happened I remember thinking it would never heal. Yet here we are.” I smirked because sometimes reality and prophecy will dance on her words without her even knowing it.

I rested my hand over my womb, where 3 scars lay, reminding me daily of our infertility journey. But this time, as I put my hand there, the stinging was gone. The disappointment lifted. In one moment, what I once viewed as a cemetery was transformed into a garden.⁣

I’m learning that scars expose... That they tell a story. That in order for them to become a scar, the wound must be tended to. I’m learning that scars can either be the shovel I use to dig myself into a pit of self-protection and isolation or it can be a trophy of His goodness and faithfulness.⁣

Maybe what we see as scars, Jesus sees as His fingerprint? ⁣