Out of nowhere this dazzling creature comes flitting through the sky and lands on a flower in my garden. Fanning her bedazzled wings, my hands instinctively grope for my camera. Cautiously and quietly I approach her perch. Her beauty is like medicine, so compelling for how perfectly designed in delicate, flawless detail she is.

As I get closer she gracefully lights on to another flower. That's when I see it. This thing of beauty is missing a part of her wing. An entire piece of who she is has been ripped away. She flounders delicately in the wind, in search of nectar as she shows the world, or at least myself, that healing is a beautiful thing. 

Her scar, for how ugly, shameful and grotesque it may have felt, is a thing of beauty. Scars tells a story, a story of survival. They reveals hope of life after pain. Scars are an exquisite mosaic of raw courage and sheer will power, that even when who you are is ripped away from you, you breathe and hope and hang on moment, after moment, after moment, with each beat of your heart, even when you don't think you can anymore. Scars are the tattoos of wounds that have healed. There is no shame in scars, for they are proof that healing is a beautiful thing. 

This Tiger Swallowtail flapped her pretty broken wing, and with the instinct to survive and the promise of flowers in the neighbor's garden she fluttered with limping precision into the wind and over the trees in search of more sweet nectar, oblivious to the hope she had left behind her. She's not the butterfly she used to be. She's stronger than she once was; more confident, more beautiful in all of her brokenness. In her own quiet way, she is a picture of hope and a story that healing is a beautiful thing.