Every Scar Has a Story

A young guardian angel gazed at Earth, observing the imperfections that plague human lives. He was born into a world free from grief, and he could not begin to comprehend why mortals must suffer when Heaven is perfect.

“Why are humans flawed? What are the marks that take so many shapes on their bodies?”

“Those are scars,” an old angel replied. “Every human carries them, whether they take a physical or emotional form.”

The young angel’s brows knitted together. “Don’t the scars bring them sorrow?”

“Of course. But even if those scars come with unhappiness, they will always be beautiful, no matter how they were received and whether or not they fade.”

“But how can imperfections be beautiful?”

“Perhaps this concept must be seen to be understood. Let us descend to Earth and view the many ways humans create beauty with their pain.”

The old angel took the younger one by the hand and led him down the steps of Heaven so they might venture secretly among mortals. They traveled through tranquil suburban neighborhoods until they came to a small house with a garden filled with earthy carrots and welcoming sunflowers. Cheerful laughter sounded from inside, and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread drifted through the open window.

“Where is this place?” asked the young angel as he stood on tiptoes to peer over the windowsill. “It seems far too peaceful to be haunted by suffering.”

The old angel pointed inside. “Look closer.”

The young angel craned his neck until he spotted a woman pulling on oven mitts to remove the bread from its cozy resting place. She hesitated before sticking her hands inside. As she shut the oven door, a young boy with a missing tooth skipped over to her.

“Is it done yet, Mama? Can we eat it?”

“Not yet, Toby. It needs to cool off so you don’t burn your tongue.”

As the woman placed the oven mitts back in a drawer, the young angel noticed a small white scar on her wrist.

“How did the woman get that scar?”

“She touched the hot stove while preparing dinner for her children.”

The young angel frowned as the woman picked up her son and pointed out shapes in the clouds through the window. “It must have hurt to burn herself. Why does she seem so happy?”

“It hurt, yes, but that scar also reminds her of everything she has done for her children. They can exist with such joy because they go to sleep every night with full stomachs.”

An older girl walked into the kitchen, wincing as she threw her duffel bag on the floor and ripped off her shoes and socks. “I’m home, Mom.”

The woman’s brows furrowed as she glimpsed the blisters covering her daughter’s feet. “I told you not to overdo it.”

“I’m fine, Mom. I did a triple pirouette on pointe today. A triple!“

As the girl continued to tell her mother about the combinations she learned in her ballet class, the young angel spoke. “Why are her feet so damaged?”

“She spends every day dancing on her toes. She practices and practices until the pain numbs, and she can only feel the bliss of movement.”

“Why would she choose such a life when it leaves so many marks on her body?”

“It brings her peace. Dancing is her escape from reality, and she would gladly endure a thousand blisters if it meant she could express herself through something she loves.”

The young angel pondered this. “So humans can receive physical scars out of love for something they hold dear. For the mother, it’s the people she cares about. For the girl, it’s the art form she adores.”

“Yes,” said the old angel. “Physical scars hold many stories, but not all of them are tragic.”

“But what about emotional scars? What stories do those hold?”

“Follow me.”

The old angel guided her curious friend away from the lively house and towards a park situated on the outskirts of the neighborhood. A group of teenagers with grass stains on their knees was kicking a soccer ball around the field.

“Over here! Pass it to me!”

“You got it, Alex! Go for the goal!”

A tall teenager narrowed their eyes as they focused on the ball hurtling towards them. They stole the ball from underneath another player’s feet before kicking hard. The ball flew into the net with a thump, and the group cheered.

“Great job, Alex!”

“You’re the best!”

The teenager smiled at their feet. “Thanks, guys.”

This person bore no physical scars, but when the young angel looked closer, he noticed a mark was imprinted on their soul. It showed signs of healing, as though the wound had once been much deeper.

“How was their soul damaged? How can a person’s soul be pierced through?”

The old angel watched the teenagers lift their friend onto their shoulders. “They were bullied as a child. They did not act or dress the way everyone wanted them to, so the world mocked them. Their heart ached as they tried to be something they were not.”

“But they have so many friends. Did something change?”

“This person refused to become bitter and instead treated everyone with kindness, eventually finding friends who accepted them for who they were.”

As the players planned out their next scrimmage, a man passed by, his eyes distant and his hands in his pockets. He paused, the corners of his mouth creeping up at the teenager’s spirited game. He had a small hole in his soul, right above where his heart would be.

“Where is the missing part of that man’s soul?”

“That hole is like a puzzle piece that can never be filled,” said the old angel, sending a light breeze to tickle the man’s nose. The man touched his face with a peaceful smile. “He lost his grandmother last month, who was very dear to him.”

“Then why is he happy? Is he not still in mourning?”

“Of course he is. But instead of drowning in grief, he finds relief in the sweet memories he shared with his grandmother, like making strawberry jam or watching her clean off the chicken egg he dropped on his shoe. He appreciates everything she did for him while cherishing the time he has left with his other loved ones.”

The young angel tapped his chin. “Scars play such a significant role in human lives. I’ve seen physical scars and emotional scars, but is it possible for a person to have both? Can someone truly endure so much pain?”

The older angel’s eyes softened. “There are many people who bear both kinds of scars. I will show you a special mortal under my care.”

The angels’ final stop was a library, where well-loved books crowded the shelves and a woman read an enthusiastic group of preschoolers The Very Hungry Caterpillar. A girl with blue-rimmed glasses sat in a nearby corner reading a mystery novel with a pensive expression. As she flipped a page, the young angel noticed tiny white lines running along her arms and a soul full of more cracks than the others.

“What happened to her?” he asked, eyes wide. “What caused her to hurt so much?”

“These are sad scars. This girl had heavy thoughts in her mind, and she believed scars were the only way to keep herself from falling into darkness.”

Tears brimmed at the corners of the old angel’s eyes. “But now she is recovering. She is learning to love herself again, and the marks on her arms and soul are fading. She has found many people who care about her and is realizing that scars do not define her.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the young angel walked to the girl and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her eyes flickered upward before returning to her book.

“Earth is so different from Heaven,” said the young angel as he exited the building with his companion. “There is so much unhappiness in this world, and I haven’t seen a single human who was immune to it.”

“There is indeed despair on Earth, but there is also joy.”

“Why can’t we take away all the sorrow? If our purpose is to care for mortals, why must we let them suffer?”

“All humans face struggles, but these experiences grant them the strength to pursue better things. We cannot take away their burdens, but we can provide them with comfort as they endure hardships. That is our purpose as guardian angels–to inspire hope.”

There was a long pause as the young angel took this in. “I’m beginning to understand what you mean, but I still have so much left to learn. Will you teach me how to protect humans and help them create meaningful lives built on their experiences?”

The old angel smiled. “Of course. Even angels are not perfect, but one day, I believe you will come to appreciate the way scars define us. On that day, you will see that scars can be beautiful.”

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Genevieve Owens is a junior at Utah Valley University pursuing a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing. She has been published in Polaris Literary Magazine and UVU’s Untold, and she is currently working on a Victorian era historical fiction novel. Genevieve has a passion for tap dance and indie alternative bands.