These Bodies We Live In
Such is the variation of words I have heard from different women in my life (myself included), all driving home the point we do not like how we look. There is some sort of ideal in our mind’s eye we are not meeting, and we’ll often point it out first. After all, that’s better than having it pointed out to us, right? It’ll remove some of the sting.
(At least that’s what I think. If I can beat you to the comment, I’m being gently self-deprecating as opposed to being insulted by you.)
But the words still do damage. Each criticism and put-down tells me, tells others, tells God the body knit together in my mother’s womb, which is fearfully and wonderfully made, is anything but a wonder and a thing of beauty (that is what our souls know well).
Yet . . .
God saw what He had made, and it was good.
Regardless of what I think about my thighs, my nose, the texture of my skin, or the lack of muscle tone in my arms.
Who am I to diss what God has made?
Not to say I shouldn’t look after what He has made, what He has given me. But I’m not to define myself (or others) by a number on a scale, the measurements of a tape measure, or the size of an article of clothing.
It’s time for me to get my words to match up to those truths. How about you?
“My legs are strong.” “I have some beautiful curves.” “I’m healthy.” “I’m God’s workmanship.”
And it is good.
*Photo Credit: ChandraBun ©2009 (Flickr via Creative Commons)