mosaic

the scar tissue of the soul affects everything I do in the background.

but what if I decide not to be ashamed of it?

of being, in some ways, incomplete.

I’ve been broken and put back together again.

wounded in ways that have healed over time – but left their marks.

what if I see them as part of me?

what if I treasure everything I’ve been through as my greatest teacher?

because of all of it, I am who I am.

one of a kind.

I carry supplies in my basket that others don’t even know exist.

I gathered them through the hardships I’ve endured.

they are like medals pinned to my chest – signs of battles survived.

because I am a victor – I’ve come out of war alive.

sometimes the scar tissue aches more.

other times, I forget it even exists.

but it would be a lie to say it isn’t there.

and that would be sad.

it wouldn’t help anyone.

I’d only be pretending – trying to look like someone I’m not.

I’d be denying parts of the road I’ve walked.

and in doing that, I’d be tossing aside the treasures I gathered along the way –

the understanding of human brokenness,

the aching of being alive,

and the hidden mercy and beauty within all that pain.

the healing that flows from the embrace of eternal love.

a beautiful mosaic made from broken pieces might just be

the best thing to scatter little sparks of hope

into the cracks of those who are shattered and desperate.

wounds leave their marks,

but as long as there is life, there is hope – even in the ashes.

when the fire that devoured everything finally goes out,

the ashes can still nourish something breathtakingly new.

so with a faint smile, I gently stroke the aching scar.

you are beautiful,

I whisper to it softly.

love,

pia