Scars
and Stretch Marks
I
have my share. Four pregnancies and two C-sections later, my wrinkled, puckered
tummy looks like a "dried apricot," as my friend L. once said. It's
true.
But
you know what? I love my stretch marks. They are victory scars. They tell a
story.
When
I look at those stripes across my abdomen, I remember when my children were
growing inside me, when they were just mine, when they went everywhere with me,
when only I knew when they had the hiccups.
When
I look at the six-inch scar from my C-sections, I think of the moment I met
them, when I first heard them cry, when I watched them meet their daddy for the
first time in the operating room. I think about how amazing it is, an everyday
miracle, and how blessed I am that God let me participate in bringing them into
the world. He could have done it all without my help.
Yesterday,
I saw a bottle of Stretch Mark Eraser on display at the mall, professing to
take those stripes away with some faithful moisturizing.
I
didn't even pause to pick it up. First of all, I don't think it would really
work. But more importantly, I don't want them to go away. I love them.
If
I could look at my heart - not the beating organ inside me but the spirit that
loves and hurts and breaks and heals - I imagine it is covered with its own
pink, purple, and red streaks. Each one
tells a story of quick stretching, sometimes so fast, hard, tight that I
thought I might tear in two.
Stretching
leaves scars. They tell a story.
What
scars are you most proud of?
“Take
it from me, a scar does not form on the dying.
A scar means, ‘I survived.’”
~ Chris Cleave, Little Bee
Tricia is a widowed single mom raising two young men who
could charm you to the moon with their freckles. She collects words,
books and bracelets, and she believes the best part of coffee is the feel of
the mug in her hand. She has written two books, And Life Comes Back (currently
available everywhere books are sold) and Let’s Pretend
We’re Normal (coming in June 2015). She writes about the
happenings of life every day at tricialottwilliford.com.
I never thought of it this way before, but I'm proud of my Achilles scars. I've learned to walk again. Twice.
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