We sat together in silence on the porch swing, my feet dangling as he rocked us gently with his feet firmly planted on the deck.
"You have such pretty feet. So small and delicate," he broke the quiet.
"That's funny, I've never been particularly fond of my feet."
"Why not?" his level voice challenged my dismissal of his compliment.
"They have so many scars on them. I don't think that's very beautiful," I equaled his tone and our banter began.
The swing halted. "You know, the most beautiful Man in the universe has scars on his feet."
"Yeah, but at least the scars on His feet tell of a noble act. An act of love. All my scars can boast is foolishness and failure."
Silence settled over us as the swing commenced swaying again. I rested my back against the back of the swing, confident of my victory.
"Well. That may be true," he started once more. "But that's what makes the scars on his feet all the more beautiful."
"What do you mean?"
"His scars of love are permanent so that our scars of foolishness and failure don't have to be."