I step out of the shower and gently wipe the steam from the mirror. I notice again the fresh stretch marks across my belly. Somehow, I never noticed them during my pregnancy. They must have been hidden the way my feet were, by the bulk of my swollen belly. I didn't get a single stretch mark with Jayci, despite never using creams or lotions of any kind. So stubbornly, I followed the same non-regimen with Caden. And yet, here the stretch marks are. Browsing through Target the other day, I picked up some expensive cream that promised "VISIBLE-TO-THE-NAKED-EYE RESULTS." But something prickled within me, and I returned it emphatically to the shelf.
Because as much as I grumble about them, I can't help but think that my stretch marks feel like proof. A reminder that life is not how God intended it. Where I give birth to a son with great pain. And feel far greater pain when he was born with a broken heart.
But the jagged pink lines also remind me of goodness. Of how, despite our brokenness, God gives us hope. How out of the pain of childbirth comes new life. How leaves change colors and die, only to bud again in the spring. Seasons of hope follow seasons of pain. Joy comes from mourning.
I run my fingers along Caden's scar. The skin is raised and rippled, yet smooth. It fills his chest, yet somehow feels like an afterthought next to his luminous blue eyes. He grins and coos at me, and I am reminded again that out of brokenness comes beauty. And that the greatest gifts in my life seem to come from what was torn, and what the Lord has bound up.
I read the story of the fall yesterday, of how Adam and Eve left the garden. It's followed so quickly by the story of Abel's murder by his brother. And it only highlights what a broken and terrible world we entered when we left the garden. It's so easy to be overwhelmed by the pain. Because we all have scars, don't we? We all face disappointment and hurt. We are stretched, torn, and wounded again and again by this world.
And yet.
And yet, there is a depth in Caden's beautiful eyes. Like he knows. Somehow he knows that his scar is so much more than a mark of brokenness. It's a symbol of God's goodness. Of how our God loves to restore, to heal. To bind up our wounds and carry our infirmities.
Caden's sternum is bound together by wire. His bone grows back around the wire, fusing together who he was and who he will become. And his rewired heart beats steadily. And my heart, too, is made new.
His scars and my stretch marks remain. And they speak loudly of the God we serve. Of the way he has stretched us. Of how Caden's birth grew my faith along with my belly. Of how our greatest fears were both realized, and redeemed. Yes, they speak loudly of a broken and hurting world. But also of a restoring God who gives us new life. And I love that I serve a God who takes symbols of woundedness, takes that which I consider ugly, and he turns it into something beautiful.
But the jagged pink lines also remind me of goodness. Of how, despite our brokenness, God gives us hope. How out of the pain of childbirth comes new life. How leaves change colors and die, only to bud again in the spring. Seasons of hope follow seasons of pain. Joy comes from mourning.
I read the story of the fall yesterday, of how Adam and Eve left the garden. It's followed so quickly by the story of Abel's murder by his brother. And it only highlights what a broken and terrible world we entered when we left the garden. It's so easy to be overwhelmed by the pain. Because we all have scars, don't we? We all face disappointment and hurt. We are stretched, torn, and wounded again and again by this world.And yet.
Caden's sternum is bound together by wire. His bone grows back around the wire, fusing together who he was and who he will become. And his rewired heart beats steadily. And my heart, too, is made new.
His scars and my stretch marks remain. And they speak loudly of the God we serve. Of the way he has stretched us. Of how Caden's birth grew my faith along with my belly. Of how our greatest fears were both realized, and redeemed. Yes, they speak loudly of a broken and hurting world. But also of a restoring God who gives us new life. And I love that I serve a God who takes symbols of woundedness, takes that which I consider ugly, and he turns it into something beautiful.