Today we decided we love Audrey’s right eyebrow even more than the other one.


But it didn’t start that way. She was playing with make-up when all of a sudden she said, “I don’t like my eyebrow because of the bald spot from the scar.” This simple statement hit me in the gut. It was the first time I had heard her look in the mirror and state something she didn’t like about herself. I’m not saying it’s never happened, although I pray it hasn’t before, but it was the first time I had heard it. And then I said something that I truly believe was straight from God. “What? That eyebrow is my favorite because it tells a story! A story of heroism and bravery.” She looked at me like I was crazy so I explained: it’s the story of a little girl who got hurt and had to be sewn up, with needle and thread, who was so scared, but bravely let the doctors work to sew her eyebrow back together.

And then I showed her how she could fill it in with eyebrow pencil.

But you know what? She rubbed it off and said she liked it better without.

We talked about it several more times today and then she asked me what part of me told a story. And I said “what about my belly? It tells the best story!” And of course she knew I meant having my two precious babies.

She’s been long asleep now but I can’t stop thinking about it. What if we always looked at our scars like that? What if instead of despairing of how they mar our bodies and despising them, what if we saw them for the stories and the healing they represent? Because with each scar, there was healing. The bigger the scar, the bigger the healing. And that is something to be grateful for!