i climbed up to the top bunk, like i always do, tossing stuffed animals left and right to make a spot for myself. she rolls toward me and says "you know what my favorite things are?....the things you have made for me." she pulls her ragdolls close. they are worn and frayed, true signs of something well loved. we lay face to face chatting about the day. she's sharing her favorite moments, clutching the heart shaped pillow to her chest. the one that she held on her lamp to see what would happen. yikes! i know.we talked about it holding it there too long burned a tiny cigarette shaped hole. i tell her, i can patch that and it won't be as noticeable she turns her round hazel eyes to the sky thinking about my offer. she looks back to her pillow and gently traces the mark with her finger. no, she says, i like it. that's how i know it's mine.
we kissed goodnight and i climbed down from her bunk to go about my evening routine. i picked up a few toys here and there, returning them to their rightful home. i washed dishes in silence as her words washed over me, no, i like the flaw, that's how i know it's mine.
the burn marks of my life surfaced. the ones that often bring pain and shame. the ones that i hide and worry will change how people see me. everyone has a mark of some sort. evidence of wrong choices made during a selfish season. a season when the desires of my own hearts were more important than his. a season when my path seemed better than his. yet i am convinced that jesus looks at those marks, traces them with his fingers, covers them with his grace and says, yes, they are mine.
i am his....marks and all.