3 Ways Your Stretch Marks Are a Testimony of Love

1. They Remind Us of Sacrifice

I will never forget the overwhelming love I felt in that first year of motherhood. I won’t forget how unprepared I was to be so selfless, either. Indeed, motherhood is a refinement, a holy process God offers women, pointing us to the relentless sacrifices of God. In our messy, mistaken-riddled motherhood, we recognize the spiritual gift we have received in an all-perfect Father.

He is ever-patient, ever-kind, and every-gentle—all the things I certainly wasn’t when I was sleep-deprived, unable to leave the house without being covered in spit-up, or bitter that little had changed in my husband’s everyday routine.

This reminds me of The Parable of the Prodigal Son, when we see Christ represented through the tender father who unabashedly welcomes home his wretched son, declaring to his eldest, “My son… you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (Luke 15:31, NIV).

No matter our state—poop-stained, depleted, and a bit insane, at times—Christ is joyfully there to sustain and comfort us. As Scripture beautifully shares, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem” Isaiah 66:13 (NIV).

But as I reflect on all the hard parts of that first year, I find fulfillment in the fire motherhood set in my soul. It forced me to the end of myself and exposed the pieces of me I had never been willing to sacrifice for another. It made me surrender myself to the most handsome little guy whose tiny fingers, little yawns, and soft coos gave my life a meaning like no other.

The more I gave, the more I was given. And what I was given was always permanent, for it was a richer understanding of eternal love.

When I see those bleached webs that weave up the side of my legs and take in, yet again, the thought, “Oh, yeah, I don’t have a thigh gap anymore…” I am reminded that in giving up my body and the sinful side of my nature, I have found a love I could never have fathomed outside carrying, birthing, and raising my son. In that, I am sanctified and sustained.

2. They Remind Us of Growth

Whether the scale shows you gained or lost weight during pregnancy, you undoubtedly grew. Your nine-month belly kept no secret of that. Your internal organs weren’t quiet in that respect, either, causing heartburn and shortness of breath as your heart and lungs and every other bit of your inner being were forced to give way to house a whole human in your womb.

You grew. And parts of your body will never return to their original state. Though stretch marks aren’t what society revels in, they are an unparalleled reminder that we aren’t to return to who or what we once were.

In a physical sense, this doesn’t mean we neglect to take care of our bodies. They are temples of our holy God, and we are commanded to honor them:

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

However, in a mental, emotional, and spiritual sense, this means growth is never perfectly linear. We are too fickle, fragile, and sinful to believe motherhood is our access to mastering growth. We will be scarred and bruised and marked by moments that challenge us to become more, but in those challenges, God’s grace gives us space to thrive.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that motherhood often feels like survival. It’s surrendering your basic needs, like wholesome food and adequate sleep, to provide sustenance to your little ones. But in these moments of sacrificial survival, God is growing you into someone more.

Your survival isn’t in vain. The seasons of surrender don’t leave your soul empty. In these times, God is pruning your heart, tending it so it won’t be scorched by the sun or consumed by the fire. Rather, the heat of it all will make you like gold:

“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” 1 Peter 1:6-7 (NIV)

Photo credit: ©GettyImages/Johner Images

3. They Remind Us of What’s to Come

I’m a bit of a WWII nerd...so much that I take free WWII college courses when they’re available online. In my study and understanding of this cataclysmic historical period, I learned that parts of Europe have yet to be rebuilt. What bombs and tanks ruined, humans swept aside. The remains were removed, but the foundations of streets, businesses, and houses were left untouched.

I wonder if the people simply didn’t have the time, energy, or resources to repair these parts. That’s certainly believable given the aftermath of a global war. On the other hand, I wonder if they believed some things were better left behind, resting in the past so something new could be born—even if that newness was nothing more than flat, open space. Freedom for what’s to come.

The love we unlock as mothers lends itself to support the latter, the idea that what we have lost, willingly or even by force, can’t compare to what’s to come. The tighter, smoother bodies we gave up, the sleep we surrendered, the personal wants we released, are a reminder that the freedoms of our past can’t compare to the freedom in love that we now hold for the rest of our lives. Endurance, both in global war and internal sacrifice, produces a resilience that rarely makes life pretty, but it always forces us to recognize what matters most.

Though I truly miss the days when I could sleep in without a toddling creature toppling on top of me, demanding, “Elmo! Cookie Monster!”, and while I occasionally scroll back through pictures from my early twenties and wish I still had time to hit the gym, fix my hair, and apply makeup, my soul knows that those things mean nothing in light of the purpose I have found in caring for my son.

Meaning will always outlive pleasure. Purpose will sustain us in ways convenience and appearances only wish they could. And as mothers, we are selling ourselves short to believe anything different.

As I’m writing this, I’m watching my two-year-old son smear peanut butter on our floor… and run through it in his nice white socks. My knee-jerk reaction is to sigh and mutter that all I ever do is clean this house.

But a deeper, richer, more mature piece of me wonders if he’ll request peanut butter pie at Thanksgiving twenty-five years down the road, when he’s at my table with his own babies who will undoubtedly cause lunchtime chaos.

The memories I have will only give way to more memories as I watch Him grow and become all that the God of the universe has handcrafted Him to be. What’s ahead, stretchmarks and all, far outweighs the temporary skin I held too dearly in the past.

As Romans 8:18 (NIV) boldly declares, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Though like Paul, we as mothers die daily to the needs of our children, we have room to rejoice: “For it is a fact that I face death daily; that is as true as my pride in your growth in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 15:31, NIV).

In the death of our unstretched bodies, hearts, and souls, we grow, and we rejoice as we become alive to the weight and grace of God’s perfect love for His imperfect children.

Related:

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9 Truths Every Postpartum Woman Needs to Hear from God’s Word

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