Stretch Marks and Scars

I’m going to admit to some vanity right now. I’ve been moisturising my belly twice a day, right from the start. Oh, and praying that I don’t get stretch marks.

Yep, I have actually prayed more than once that I won’t get stretch marks.  

It’s not like I don’t have any. I had a major growth spurt when I was around 12 or 13 and as a result I already have some stretch marks on my hips and upper thighs. They really don’t bother me either, but I just have this idea in my head that getting stretch marks on my belly will be hideous. 

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This photo has been floating around Pinterest for a while now, and while I have always liked the sentiment, in my head I have always hoped “not me.”

The thing that I finally realised yesterday is this: they are the scars I will bear from bringing forth life.

My Jesus bears scars from bringing forth life too – my life. His scars speak of His incredible sacrifice, God's great mercy and unspeakable love for us. I love that when He rose from the grave, He still bore the marks. They were the proof that Thomas needed to believe He had risen. They are the reminder of the Life that was exchanged for mine. They speak of overcoming, of love.

So if I do end up with stretch marks, I want them to not only be a reminder of the tiny life that I carried in me for 9 months, but also be a reminder of the One who carries me, and sacrificed Himself for me to have life.