She wears hers visibly, in plain view for the whole world to see. The tiny scar under her nose is her memorial, a witness to the story of her passing from death to life.
Told by those in the know that she would never survive her birth or, if she did, only as one horribly misshapen and void of even average intelligence, she defied what should have been by doing the only thing she had been created to do....live.
Today the line mars her flesh while proclaiming the beauty of her spirit and the goodness of God.
Six, almost seven years have passed since those days of God-wrestling in the waiting room of life or death. A proud mama, I continue to testify to the miracle in her while continuing to silently battle my own war within. Even while she resided inside me, siphoning from me the life she needed for her becoming, a bit of mine began to seep away. In the lonely tears and growing pains, my world began to shift from strong and healthy to weak and infirm.
I have never been the same.
The God-wrestles continue, this time in the private theatre of my soul. There are occasional days that find me weak and in pain, flat on my back but imploring face to the ground, hands to the heavens that same protaganist of Jacob of old. Prayers for healing and full deliverance, unabashed begging from one whose life exists only as a secondary character to the One whose plans and purposes construct The Eternal Story.
I continue to bear the scars of that mother/daughter journey, however invisible to the naked eye and buried deep inside. I too want life, one broader and more vibrant than this one of chronic affliction. In honest complaint I plead my case. I contend in faith, mano a mano with my God, believing, hoping that these trials can and will build my spirit stamina.
I will not waste this fight. Though trials touch my life, it will not mar the beauty of this life. Though pain and trial visit, yet will I raise my voice in telling the goodness of my God.
Whether healing or full contentment with my lot in life comes, I do not want to be found the same. I'd rather the internal scars bear some outward manifestation of this soul-beauty He is forging from the ugly fires of this life.
I'd rather be found beautiful in this waiting room of healing than sour and sullen, hiding the scars and denying HIm the glory due His name.
