Scars

I notice scars. I do not mean to stare and take notice, but it turns out I often do. Its not that I am repulsed or even grossed out.  It's the quite the opposite, I am fascinated by scars.

I find the presence of scars to be an example of strength; how far a person has come, what all the have seen, how much they can survive. I am drawn to them. I like to ask how they got there. I like to listen to the stories of survival and triumph.

I am like most people that I see large scars and take notice. But I also am curious about the teeny tiny scars that other people don't necessarily notice.

I personally have both of both sets.
Some of my favorite memories involve scars.I have teeny tiny scars above both eyebrows from the chicken pox I shared with my bff, Ginger when we were six,
the oval near my jawline that matches up with another similar one on the back of my head from a dog attack when I was even younger that was resolved by my dog "going to live on a farm..",
a  navy blue line on my shin that looks like the start to an oddly placed tattoo where I accidentaly jammed a pencil led into my leg in Miss Frose's 1st grade class but was too shy to tell anyone because I cried every time I talked to the teacher, I like this one because that shy girl is no more. I wonder what she would think if she saw me standing at the front of my classroom everyday teaching,
a minimal slash and stitches through my ear from a wild bronco ride when I was four that I would have nailed the landing if it weren't for the coffee table disrupting my dismount,
a medium slash on my lower leg that I received at the state fair while making sand art with my bestie and near twin Camie Baxter when we were about 6th grade that originally was at the ankle but has grown with me and reminds me how much I miss her since her too early death. I think of her and I while shaving my legs almost every time. I think of her and I sharing baths, and swimming in her Jacuzzi, and how that summer she turned her usual golden tan and bleach blonde thanks to the summer sun and looked a lot like a Barbie, and I got third degree sunburns and my momma made me wear a tank top under my swimsuit the rest of summer,
I look at my hands at see the large scar on my right hand that ranges from one side to the other that has finally shrunk to only 1/4 of an inch wide and mostly smooth and remember how much I feel weak when I hold a rope for fear that a. I will not have the hand strength and b. for fear I will have another half inch wide and half inch deep scar if it were to happen again, I look at my left hand and the see pinky crooked and odd textured where the other rope came across and nearly severed it, and yet it is functional and most people never notice its weirdness. I remember asking my mother to pray for me and remember her laughing through tears as she told me she had been for hours and how mean she had to be when they wanted to amputate it and she said no, I look and see the ring finger and realize how thankful I am that it's there because I like the thought of being able to show others someday that I married a man I love more than anything.
I like seeing both hands and both sets of large and crazy scars and realizing how God has watched over me and kept me from harm.
I look on my hips and see my "tiger stripes"(stretch marks) and realize that they do in fact look like tiger stripes... and  I remember how strongly I prayed for my son, how badly I wanted him, how I gave up soda, and hot dogs, and hair dye because I wanted to protect him. I remember praying for him so much and so often when he was in his belly home God prolly got tired of hearing my voice. I look at them and remember how amazing it was to be pregnant with him.I lok at them and think how fun it was to see and feel him swim around. How neat it was to listen to his heart beat on the stethoscope. How I use to play Aerosmith and Johnny Cash at the belly because it made him wiggle and dance. I remember what a gift my son is and I am thankful.

These are the are the reasons I like scars on others. I like hearing their tales of crazy, woe, survival, pain, and learning. I like seeing how far they've come and what they can live through. I like the idea that we are stronger and more powerful. I like reminders of how far we've come. I like looking and realizing that we have survived more than we ever thought possible. If you ever see me stare or you overhear me tell someone how cool their scar looks, I am admiring it. I am admiring their personal fortitude. I am in awe of the strength they have. I am in awe of how each one made them more unique and identifiable.

If you were to ask my mother how she would intimacy identify me, she would tell you if something were to happen to me and she had to identify my body. She does not need to see my face. She would ask to see my ear and the scar there, she would ask to see my toes and the toe rings I never take off, and she would ask to see my hands. I guess my mother and I think a lot a like.

A Dangerous Question, "Will you marry me?"

"Will you marry me?"

I hadn't ever contemplated what it must be like for a man to ask such a dangerous question. I knew what it was like to see on TV and movies, had heard smoochie-fied cheeseball stories from people, and had even been asked a time or two.

But nothing can compare to the time I had a conversation with my "other mother." See Penny, (yes, her real name.) wasn't just anyone in my life, Penny was my bonus mom. She is both beautiful and wise and quite frankly stinkin' amazing when it comes to raising and dealing with men.

She and I were discussing life and responsibilities and being grown up. I thought I was a grown up back then... trust me... I wasn't.

She was telling me how many men don't really understand what it really means to ask a woman to marry them. I am positive my face gave away my confusion. She began to explain to me that when a man asks such a dangerous question that he isn't just asking for your hand to hold or even for someone who will look nice in family pictures... although he is asking those too.

When a man asks a woman to marry him he is asking...
- will you grow and bear my children?
- will you share and take my last name?
- will you cook my meals?
- will you put up with my mother?
- will you deal and share my family?
- will you clean and keep our home in order?
- will you love me if I get fat?
- will you share my address, regardless of where it is?
- will you love me when I am old &/or grey? or bald?
- will you take care of me when I am sick? even if I'm a big baby about it?
- will you take care of our kids if they are sick?
- will you have my back when no one else does?
- will you love me in spite of my stubbornness...temper... crazy... etc?
-will you think I am still the handsome man you met and married forever?
- will you share half of my everything even if we don't have anything?
- will you support me and my decisions?
- will you be there through thick and thin?
- will you sacrifice for me and our family?
- will you "love" on me?
- will you cherish me when I am at my lowest?

-will you love me for ALL of me?

I had never contemplated how dangerous and powerful a statement that ONE question was. She was right.  Too many women want the girlie bits and bling, they don't LISTEN to the underlying questions he is REALLY asking.

Ladies, think long and hard before you answer a man. Not because you don't love him... but because you really need to know you are willing and able to be everything.

Gentlemen, don't ask a woman anything you don't really mean. Know how much you are REALLY asking  a woman...

The bottom line is, "will you marry me?" isn't just a cutesy question that leads to a big party. It's a life changing question. Any man crazy enough to ask me such a dangerous question better know what he is asking, because I want know...

-will you kill the spiders in our home?
- will you love me when I'm pregnant and feel like a whale?
- will you tell me the truth about our finances?
- will you hold me after a long day?
- will you put up with me when I'm emotional and girlie?
- will you love me regardless of my hair color or weight?
- will you explain "boy things" to me without making fun of me?
- will you love  when I need it most?
- will you need me?
- do you want to have a baby with me?
- will you listen to me?
- will you kiss me and make me weak in the knees?
- will you snuggle me and keep me warm at night?
- will you be there for me?

The thing is marriage is hard. It is also absolutely worth it, if you are with someone who will get there and support you no matter what.  I could care less about the jewelry or party. Truth is, if I had it my way, I wouldn't have a wedding. I want a marriage. All the other stuff, well, it's just stuff. Stuff gets old and broken.  I want to come home to the man of my dreams and just be us.

Gentlemen, don't ask if you aren't ready to be man she needs. Ladies don't say yes unless you are willing to be the helpmate he needs.