Scars and Stories and Amish Quilts

 

 "Have you heard my Mona Lisa?
Have you heard who you are?
You're a new morning
You're a new morning"
 - New Morning, by Alpha Rev

 

There's an old story which my Mom read to me as a little girl, about a king who owned a large diamond of incredible worth. It was the pride of his kingdom and the envy of many others. One day, the diamond was dropped. To the king's horror, the diamond had obtained a long, deep scratch on one side. The king put forth a reward to anyone who could come restore the diamond. Jewelers came from far and near to look at the stone, but they all said the same thing: the cut was too long and deep to be repaired. The king despaired that his prize possession was ruined forever. One day a man arrived, dusty and tired from a long journey, and requested to see the diamond. Upon inspecting it carefully, he nodded and said he could make it beautiful again. The king was overjoyed. For many long days the man worked on the diamond, locked in a guarded room within the palace. Finally, the man said he was finished. The king beheld the diamond, and for a moment, he was shocked to see that the long scratch was still there! But before he could speak, his shock turned to wonder and awe. Into the side of the diamond, the man had carved an intricate, exquisite rose. He had used the long gouge, once ugly, to be the perfect stem.The diamond was then more beautiful and valuable than ever before, because of the imperfection which had been transformed into something incredible.

I love this story because it tells of something ugly becoming something stunningly beautiful. I love scars and imperfection. I love stories of beauty from ashes. Who doesn't have scars and stories and times of passing through some kind of fire? Gold has to go through fire to burn away the dross and become precious. Don't we, then, too? 

In the book, "A Severe Mercy", author Sheldon Vanaucan tells how when he and his wife bought a car they put a dent in it, just so it would already be there and they wouldn't be disappointed when it inevitably became dented or scratched later on. They wanted their value of things to be in the right place, not poured into cars and things. It's similar to a story in the book "Love Does", by Bob Goff, about a painting of his which got a dent in it when one of his kids accidentally flicked it hard with a rubber band. He had saved and saved for the painting because he adored it so, and when he bought it he was given a replica which he was told was best to hang in his house, so he could hide the real one away and keep it safe. But why hide something you love in a closet and settle only for an imitation? So he put out the valuable one, there in the living room for everyday sight and love, and even though it got damaged he loved it just as much. Maybe more so, because now it was a beautiful painting with a chuckle-worthy story of getting zinged by a stray rubber-band. 

A few months ago I bought a desk. It's large and gorgeous, plenty of space to work and write and set pictures on. I was advised to get a piece of glass to cover the top so it wouldn't get scratched, but I didn't. It wasn't long before it did get scratched, when a photo fell from the wall and gouged it with the frame. I like to run my finger along the long mark, and smile, because now I won't be afraid of future imperfections. Likewise, my friend Meredith has an old kitchen table and has delightedly shown me the imprints of homework done on that table, pencils pressed hard through paper from times her siblings and her would sit together at that table in her parent's house. Now it lives in her home, in another State, with all the grace of memories clinging to it and new ones being made all the time.

 I read that when the Amish make a quilt, they purposefully put in some small imperfection somewhere. When another Amish person is examining the quilt, they will take the time to look for that imperfection. There's a double satisfaction of putting it in and of finding it. It's it so good to expect or even include imperfections from the very beginning, instead of being so disappointed when they happen? Not that we should just be lackadaisical about it and think, "Oh well, things are going to get smudged somewhere along the way, better not to try so hard in the first place," yet instead to find the story in imperfections. The loveliness that balances out any strived-for perfection the world might name. Isn't it mostly a matter of opinion anyway?

One of my sisters has a long scar on her arm from several surgeries when she was a teenager.  She never seems bothered by it, and even teases little kids who ask to touch it by flinching as though in pain, then making them laugh when she tells them she was only kidding. I think scars should be worn boldly, unashamedly, because they are reminders of things we went through and we helped make us who we are. Scars and dents and scratches and imperfections: they are beautiful. Whether sewn into an Amish quilt or worn on our arms or hearts, they are beautiful. Just like you.