God's Huntress

I wrote this after a conversation with my mom about scars. She said God doesn’t take them away. We carry them. Not as disfigurement, but as witness.

For years I believed healing meant erasure. No trace of pain, no mark left behind. But when Christ rose, He kept His scars. Not because He lacked the power to remove them, but because they had become glory.

My scars are not shame. They are memory. They are proof that I passed through fire and did not vanish in the smoke. Proof that a hand steadier than mine carried me out.

So I no longer hide them. I hold them up like lanterns. They light the way back through the dark, not only for me, but for anyone still stumbling toward resurrection.

B🤍