Her Perfect Skin
She was born with perfect skin into an imperfect world.
|Photo: Jyn Meyer
I remember her peach-soft,
Milky, white skin on Birth Day.
Little arms that reached out for hugs,
Arms that slid through tiny shirts and lacy dresses.
Years later the red line of scars started appearing.
First Band-Aids and lies,
Finally, I realized that she was cutting herself.
Each new scar was a stab at my heart.
Where had I gone wrong?
Where had we failed so miserably as parents?
How could her life be so miserable?
What raging demon possessed her mind?
Would she ever find the help she needed
To stop slashing at this masterpiece?
Therapy, honesty, medication, and time
Faded her pain and the ugly, red scars. After much prayer,
Patience and love, we were all maturing.
Now I rarely think about her scars,
Unless it is summertime. Her skin is still porcelain fair.
The scars are thick and faded, yet clearly visible.
I am relieved that there are no new ones.
She even wore a sleeveless wedding dress.
Now she envelopes me with warm hugs.
A young woman has graduated from college and
Reaches her arms out to other hurting people.
Yet she is sometimes embarrassed about the scars.
I try to encourage her with these thoughts:
“Remember, that everyone who lives in this world has scars.
Everyone has hurt themselves or others.
Your scars are just more visible than some.
Most people carry their scars on the inside--
In their hearts or minds.
However, they are not more valuable or better than you are.
I believe that your new name is Hope.” *
“I know, Mom,” she says.