Scars Always Have a Story


I first noticed these scratches months ago; I just noticed the beauty this week.

The photo captures the deep scratches into wood from the pew at church. Shame. That’s what I first felt. My family had harmed such an important piece of furniture in our Lord’s house. As a child, my Granny was the caretaker and maintained the church. What fun it was to hang out with Granny on cleaning days! The church isle seemed to be so long and steep; the microphone was used to sing private specials; and the piano better not be touched! It wasn’t a toy. And for the sake of all things of your bottom, you’d better not let her ears hear you running in the Lord’s house.  All that to say,ྭ I was taught at a very early age how to care for and cherish the building. And now, my family had caused damage. We were not positive that a repair could be properly executed in order to make it seem flawless once again. I took a bit of time this week to examine the damage; that’s when my eyes witnessed the beauty.

The damage was caused by the ornamental studs on my husband’s belt. The scratches are from repeated ups and downs of the studs into the grains of oak. The continual movement over and over removed the protective layer and with time, cut through for a permanent scar. The key to this change of heart was the “continual movement”. My husband was continually there, on the pew, with our family. He wasn’t absent. The deep scratch reminded my wifely heart that he was ever present with our family. Sundays over and over, he occupied the pew. The years of movement by helping our then toddler children with items dropped to the floor, or maybe reaching into my purse for a sippie cup or snack. He now tilts himself to a better position from the back aches after a very long work week. He inches over when his sister and her family joins our family on the pew. The scars left are from his physical presence. A presence that many wives, children, and even sisters, miss in their life.

I sat for a bit longer taking in the view and soaking up the peaceful quiet of the building. God reminded my heart through those damaged grains of oak that He blessed my kids and I with a man that was ever present. He is where his family is; and he desires nothing more than us. Happy Father’s Day to my husband; thank you for being ever present, for the good, the bad, and the ugly scratches!


Jenny Stafford