It was about 9 p.m. on a Friday evening when she walked through the door of her third-floor apartment. Work had taken its toll on her weary body. The living space emanated a musty, odiferous aroma that made her feel at rest. Her husband Tony sat on the couch in his sweatpants and smiled at her.
“Brooke’s been waiting for you to read her a story.” He said. “Then you should come join me on the couch. I can’t imagine you’ve had an easy day.” She smiled softly back at him. This was the highlight of her Friday nights. She always worked late on Fridays with the rudest coworkers and the most ungrateful customers. During these days, however, the smile never faded from her tired face. Her 9-year-old daughter was the joy of her life. She opened up the door and was greeted by her giddy daughter, shouting her name and latching herself to her mother’s waist.
“Hey, sweetie.” She said softly, her body melting into her daughter’s. She read Brooke’s favorite children’s book, one they both knew by heart. The story came to an end as soon as it began. Brooke’s mother tucked her in and gave her an affectionate kiss on her forehead.
“Hey, mommy?” she stopped her mother at the doorway. “Can I ask you about something?” The mother turned around and sat at the foot of the bed. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“How did you get those scars all over your wrists?”
Her mother froze. After many years of trying to forget, a multitude of memories washed over her. She slowly turned her wrists around so she could see them. There were so many scars, each one bearing so many stories. Most of those stories were lost in time, but few were pungent in her mind. She noticed one on the base of her right wrist. She sealed the deal with a steak knife when she was 14. Scott was the first boy she ever loved. She was completely enthralled with this boy; he consumed her every thought. He entertained these feelings she had for him, leading her on. Soon after she was enthralled, he would completely ostracize her, pretending she did not exist. After some time, he stopped talking to her completely and began to date her best friend. About to burst from the hurt that had slowly built up inside of her, she confronted him and demanded an explanation. He told her that if she was stupid enough to not see this coming, then she deserved it. Stupid. This word resonated inside of her mind and body. She was stupid, everything she had done was stupid, her feelings were stupid, she was stupid for not seeing her own stupidity. She lay in bed that night, openly weeping. The only way to quench the emotional pain was to fill it with physical pain. She stole a knife from the kitchen and cut deeply across her wrist, the emotion flowing down her wrist, disguised as blood.
She noticed a long scar that tapered off diagonally on her left wrist. This memory was vibrant in her mind as well. She was 16 and was one of the best cheerleaders at the school. She had done cheer since middle school, so it was clockwork by this time. She had been inadvertently stealing the spotlight from the other cheer captain on the team. The mother had been working the whole semester on a stunt that would surely blow the audience away when the captain decided to cut her from the team. Tiffany justified to the team that she was focusing too much on herself and not being a team contributor while admitting to her that she was “an ugly bitch that will never be as good as me.” She would never forget these exact words of her captain; the words she would repeat to herself as she carved once more into her arm.
She then shifted her gaze to the scar running vertically down her artery on her right wrist. The scar protruded from the skin as well as from her memory. By the time she was 17, she had finally won the heart of Scott, or at least she thought. She loved him so much, and would give her all to make him happy. Unfortunately, making him happy required sexual favors from her which began to increase in intensity. She began to grow uncomfortable with these sexual advancements and realized that he had never changed since she first met him. She made the adult decision to end things between them permanently and break up with him. Scott was angry. Very angry. He demanded that she grant him sexual favors right then. She refused, and he retaliated by beating her and forcing her. He left her house after the act was committed, and left her to feel violated and dirty. She hated Scott, praying he would get into a violent car accident on the way home. She was consumed with a fear for the next few weeks that she was pregnant. One day after school, she stopped by the Wal-Mart nearby her house to pick up a test and take it home. She tested positive. The thud of her heart hitting the floor could be heard throughout the house, as she immediately burst into sobs. Her mother ran into to the bathroom to see what was going on and was promptly horrified to find the positive test strip sitting on the bathroom counter. Her parents lectured her for hours, screaming at her that she was a terrible daughter, that they should’ve emancipated her from the house a long time ago, and that she was never going to amount to anything. She believed them. No one loved her. Scott didn’t love her. Her parents were ashamed of her. Everyone at school hated her. She would be more useful dead than alive. She didn’t want anyone to have to be hindered by her anymore, and the only way to make this a reality was a long, deep, cut “down the tree.” Her parents came to her room later that night to bring her dinner, only to find her passed out with her right wrist open, blood flowing freely out until there would be no emotion, no pain, no feelings left. She was rushed to the hospital that night, and to her temporary dismay, was saved.
“How did you get those scars all over your wrists?”
How was she still alive today? How did her life turn from a nightmare to a fairy tale? How could she explain this to a nine-year-old girl? She noticed another marking on her left wrist, however, this one was different. It was a tattoo that read “Romans 8:28” in adorned cursive, mixed among the scars. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” When she gave birth to her unplanned child Brooke, she received a spark of life, a ray of sunlight at the end of the tunnel. Brooke was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had heard the Bible verse on her skin several times before but had never taken it to heart until that moment. God was working things out for her good, even though she did not see it at the time. THIS was why she was alive today. God preserved her life. He allowed things to happen to her to help her grow and grow she did.
“How did you get those scars all over your wrists?”
The mother smiled and turned to her child. “Each scar on my wrists is a hard time your mommy experienced when growing up. When I first got each scar, it was because I was very sad, and I thought each situation was the worst thing that ever happened. But when I had you, and married daddy, I was very happy. You both are gifts from God to me. I had to get through the very hard times in my life so I could get to the really happy things. If we love God and make His will our will, he will work things out for our ultimate good.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead once more. “Does that make sense, sweetie?” Her daughter paused and thought long and hard. “Not really. I’m sorry mommy.”
The mother laughed. “You see this Bible verse tattoo on my wrist? Will you promise me to learn it and never forget it?” The daughter nodded her head enthusiastically. “Good.” The mother grinned ear to ear and headed towards the door, flipping the light switch off. She gazed at her daughter once more, feeling the same exhilaration she felt at her birth.
“I love you, Brooke.”
“I love you too, mommy.”
