Few grow to adulthood unmarked by scars. Mine are barely noticeable (even by me); yet, I have never forgotten how I got them. The first scar came at a very early age. A cousin gave me a ride on a tricycle in our cellar. I stood on the back as he sped around; getting too close to cinder-block walls, I scraped knuckles on my right hand. More scarring occurred in my teen years and that time is tougher to explain. It was the 1960’s and curling my hair on brush rollers was as routine as brushing my teeth.

Having only 1 bathroom and several sisters; we found it more convenient to take the small round mirror from off the wall of our bathroom and moved it to other rooms. I had used it to roll my hair in my upstairs bedroom. Finished, I laid it down on my bed. Later, I neglected to remember it was there and that it had a small chip in the glass mirror. The reason for putting the pressure of my right knee down on the mirror escapes me. I experienced pain, panic and a steady flow of blood. The scar on my knee serves as a reminder.

I realize I’m in mixed company; men, you could never understand a loving mother’s pride in her scarring from pregnancy stretch marks.

I look back to both of my pregnancies and travail of labor with great joy.

“My children, with whom I am again in labor until Christ is formed in you—(Galatians 4:19 NASB).”

Published articles in Mature Living Magazine, Devotions for the Deaf, The Secret Place, Coosa Journal, Mary Hollingsworth's The One Year Devotional of Joy and Laughter, Jo Krueger's Every Day in God's Word. http://www.pamforddavis.com
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