If you are a woman, and anything like myself, you hit points in your life when you look in the mirror - or over the muffin-top at your belt line (if those pants still button up...) and feel frustrated and exhausted. Or those faint lines creeping across my forehead - the marks of two years, part time and grad education - but not clearly having it together at the gym. Or in life.
I feel imperfect. Unmotivated. A failure. An apathetic steward. The antithesis of health in health care professional.
I feel downright discouraged! Angry even. Haven't I been hard at work? Hasn't my work been pleasing and diligent?
How is this my reward?
The tummy that's never quite flat, the hair that's always 'too' flat or wind-swept or humidified, a chest that defies cute, teeny bathing suits, the thighs that are 'child-bearing' in appearance.
Here's the deal with how I'm thinking. It's wrong. All wrong. Very wrong.
I misunderstand my body -
and the marks of trail over it telling where I've been. Where Christ has been - and etched His mark.
I have worry lines. I went through a really terrible depression. I could have lost my mind or my life.
I might not have had breath to pinken my skin, nor the
creases, where Christ came and dwelt and saved me.
I have laugh lines too. Where I learned the names of new friends, and gained and appreciation for red wine, and learned that life was not all about school.
I have laugh lines,
because God expanded the stretch of my understanding.
I have flabby arms. Perfect for resting on a tabletop for hours as I tapped away at keys, letting the fingers be nimble without complaint,
because God helped me focus on the tasks before me, without thought to the consequence.
I have a tummy. Where I leaned against the back of a chair, when I wasn't lifting and turning human bodies or leaning into a hug,
because God taught me to lean on something other than myself.
I have breasts and a bottom that with great certainty, prove the existence of gravity. And they are just there really. The comfort factor of the bottom came in handy, all of those long hours studying and writing,
because God taught me that purpose is revealed in the fullness of His time.
I have the teeth and the tremor that mark me a coffee 'addict'. And I swore I'd never be one, or possibly enjoy such a little cup of zippy pleasure,
because God knows our frailties, and how hard it is for me vacate my cozy bed in the morning, or stay alert and oriented through a department meeting.
Sure, I have goals to shape up. But the motivation changes, right - when we look at our bodies this way. This film reminded me of the gift it is to be marked. To be stretched. To have the gift of holding life within and before us.
Vessels, frail and imperfect, but used for good, good work, to the glory of God.
