I have three of them. on long jagged one splitting the place where I gained nourishment as a fetus-child and two symmetrically placed just inside the jut of my hip bone. Compared to the scars of others, mine are small and insignificant, but to me they are a glaring imperfection. A representation of history.

“Getting pregnant is going to be hard for you.”

5 years and a few more diagnoses later hard seems more like impossible. Dissolved dreams lead to intense grief, but I have learned intense grief can lead to incredible grace. Without these scars would we be on this journey of loving the broken now? Would the idea of mothering another mother’s babes ever cross my selfish heart?

Little one, my scars have lead me to you. Your heart scars and mine connected together in a beautiful story only a Divine Author could write.

Some days the contemplation of what the families of my pilgrim-kids have experienced is overwhelming to me. Their lowest low becomes their greatest shame. I hold Moms, Grandmas and Sisters through tears and ache and wish I could just hold the whole family together. I would sew closed the wounds and care for the scars that remained. My “it’s going to be ok” sounding probably as trite to their hearts as it is to mine. Right now it is not ok. But in the end this scar will make us strong. Hopefully, it will lead us all to the one whose hands and feet and side bear the scars that can give us the ultimate bravery, total boldness before the throne of the Most High.

“Together our scars will be proof of our brave.” -Ann Voskamp