The Scar That Stays

Today is a scar.

No matter how many years stretch between then and now, July 14th will never pass unnoticed. It pulses quietly beneath the surface all year long, and when it comes, it breaks open again—not as a wound, but as a scar that still aches.

The day my daughter died marked my life in a way that changed everything. There was a before, and there is an after. And though time has moved forward, this day remains. It always will.

Scars are proof of both injury and healing. They say, “Something happened here. Something was torn open, but it didn’t destroy you.” That’s what this day feels like—evidence that something was lost that mattered so deeply, it will never be forgotten. This scar tells a story of love, of longing, of holding on and letting go. It reminds me that grief isn’t a lack of faith—it’s an expression of it. I grieve because I loved, and I still do.

There is comfort in knowing that even Jesus kept His scars. He could have been raised from the dead in flawless perfection, unmarred by crucifixion. But the Father chose to leave the marks. The holes in His hands and side weren’t oversights. They were signs—of suffering, yes, but also of victory. They tell the story of a love so vast it entered into death to bring us life.

Those scars helped Thomas believe. They helped the disciples recognize Him. And they help me, too.

Because if Jesus can carry His scars into glory, so can I.

So can this day.

The pain of this anniversary is real. It isn’t erased by time, or even by the hope I have in Christ. But it is held. Redeemed. It has a place in the larger story God is telling—one in which death is not the end, and scars can become signs of resurrection.

So today, I sit with the ache. I trace the edges of the memory. I let the tears come, because they matter. But I do not grieve as one without hope. I know the One who holds my daughter now. I know He is good. And I know that one day, every tear will be wiped away.

Until then, I carry this scar—not as a symbol of defeat, but as a quiet testimony:

Love lived here.

Hope lives still.