I don’t remember the exact moment that she said it, but I remember the impact of her words. A dear friend of mine declared that she was ugly—her stretch marks an eyesore—her body a beat-up shell of who she used to be.
Even so…she was beautiful.
Especially so…she was beautiful. A mother. A wife. A friend.
And so I wrote this poem…
“Stretch Marks”
See these marks?
Yes, they're ugly.
My skin has stretched far from its ideal,
Far from the notion that
Beauty fits into a size two.
These cells have aged
And grown and changed,
Souvenirs of life displaying
Evidence that
I am not who I used to be.
I am older and wiser,
More experienced but less certain
Of anything
But love
Anymore.
Plans change.
Crayons end up in noses and
Heads knock lips into blood and
Soft drinks and junk food beacon late at night and
I shake my head and laugh it off
And drive my car down the road that looks
Like the marks on my skin and
I marvel in the ugliness that
Truly is radiance and
I drink in the pleasure that
I call my life.
So, see these marks?
Yes, they're ugly.
But look closely and see:
They are me.
And I am beautiful.
Dear God: When we look at ourselves and see ugly, you look at us and see beautifully redeemed. Thank you. Help us to find worth and value even in our flaws and help us to embrace the beautifully messy gift that we call life. Stretch us in you, God. Form us into who we are meant to be. Amen.
**This painting was done by my friend and colleague, Shauna. This is her interpretation of “Stretch Marks.”**
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