“Oh, did baby bump her head?!” the lady cooed as she passed my daughter in the store. I smiled at the lady. When she continued to ask about how my daughter, Eliana, got such a terrible bump on her forehead, I explained that it was just a birthmark. The bluish-tinted knot on her forehead sprinkled with red speckles was a hemangioma that had grown up under the skin. But it didn’t bother her at all. The lady gave a nervous smile before replying, “Well she’s got such pretty eyes.” This was one of many encounters that we have when people notice my daughter’s birthmark. Sometimes we just smile and nod and continue on our way. Other times when folks want to get into a conversation my husband and I explain how the bruise-like bump is just a birthmark. We nod in agreement when people remark how much it looks like she fell and bumped her head, listen attentively as they embark on stories about how their little ones fell and hit their head, almost as though waiting for us to realize that yes, indeed, she had fallen and hit her head and that it wasn’t just a birthmark after all. Occasionally we get the concerned strangers that want to make sure we have gotten her medical attention, assuring them that Eliana has a dermatologist, has been seen by a specialist from Duke, and the birthmark is superficial and nothing to worry about.

I’m not surprised that people notice her birthmark. My husband and I tend to forget about it as it is just part of who she is (We often joke that her birthmark is actually a scar left by a power-hungry wizard, bent on world domination—I happened to be watching Harry Potter when I went into labor). What does surprise me is that after learning that she has a birthmark that may or may not diminish as she gets older, people tell us how sorry they are. That one always throws me. I try to let such well-meaning folks know they don’t need to be sorry. The birthmark doesn’t bother our daughter at all and we are so blessed to have such a happy, healthy little girl.

One of the most surprising responses came from a photographer. We had received a gift certificate for a photography session and when we were picking out our pictures the photographer asked if we would like to have her birthmark airbrushed out. I remember my husband and I sat there for a moment dumbfounded. It was something we had never considered before. For us, having a natural physical feature of our daughter airbrushed just didn’t sit right. As though who she is, just as she is, is something that needs to be concealed or manipulated to conform to a culturally-informed ideal. I know the photographer meant well. She wanted to offer a service to provide a quality picture. But for us, that quality picture meant portraying our daughter just the way she looked at that moment; a treasured moment in time of our baby girl, a moment that flies by in a blink of the eye.

Every question and comment came from a place of well-meaning curiosity and concern; all of which were stemming from the realization that there was something different about our daughter. It’s made me more aware of how our culture approaches that which is different. Some find difference to be a simple curiosity, something of note. Others see difference as an unfortunate occurrence which elicits concern if not pity. And finally, some see difference as an outlier to the prescribed set of norms, an outlier that needs to be identified and corrected.

My favorite response to difference came from a young boy who was perhaps four or five years old. When he encountered my daughter on the playground one day you could see right away that he noticed her birthmark. His expression revealed curiosity and then his brows furrowed as though deep in thought. He approached my husband. Pointing to Eliana’s head he asked, “Is she special? Does that make her special?” My husband Stephen paused for a moment then said, “Yes, I guess so.” The little boy seemed to be even more concerned. With a questioning look he asked, “But I’m special too right?” “Yes,” Stephen said. “Of course you are. You’re special too.” What that little boy realized, but what many of us forget, is that we are all special. Whether we have different shades of skin, accents, mental or physical abilities, birth marks, hair colors (or no hair at all!), we are all created in a unique but precious way. People are special. People are different. But we are all drawn together in that same human condition that cries out for God’s grace and is completely dependent upon the love and mercy of God.

In a church which is comprised of and opened to people of all of all ages, nations, and races, we realize that our special mark is one of grace. We are a people marked by the grace of God, identified as such a people through our baptism. Through baptism we receive a ‘re-birth mark’ which becomes all the more visible the more we live into that baptismal identity. Our baptism should be an indelible mark upon our lives. Unlike some birth marks which involute over time, our re-birth mark actually bubbles up to the surface more, transforming the shape of our entire being as we grow in love of God and one another.

When such a mark becomes visible, it is difficult for people to ignore. When a person lives into their re-birthmark of grace they won’t appear to be the same. Their priorities shift, their character transforms, they live differently. The ruling temper for their life becomes love. Such a transformation doesn’t leave just a mark on an individual, but a mark on the world. So if you have received that re-birth mark of grace in your own life, if your identity marker is found in your baptism, don’t try to cover it up. Rather than airbrushing your Christian identity to conform to the standards of today, embrace it. Let your baptismal identity spread to cover every part of your life to where it’s not only noticeable, but profound. Let such a re-birth mark make people stop and wonder what it is that has transformed your life so completely. And when people ask, “What happened?” share with them the Good News of the one who makes such a mark upon our lives.