On Body Image

i flip through my closet. 


jeans that would fit in 10 pounds.
tshirts that don't hide muffin tops well.
skirts that don't stretch enough to cover a body that's born two kids.

i sigh.

my go-to yoga pants call my name.
they fit. i pull them on, wondering if even a closet full of clothes
 would satisfy my war-torn body, my fragile self-image.


my cell phone rings.
i smile at the caller id.

we've been friends forever.
we laugh, we cry, 
we chat about day-to-day not-important-but-oh-so-important happenings.
 we laugh about our snack choices.
one of us is particularly likes the chick-fil-a drive through.
   i love this friend.
oh so much.

she's creative and funny. we both love to cook but get stumped at the day-to-day feeding our family gig.  we love to shop. she's a bargain hunter and finds the best stuff all over town.  she's extremely compassionate and always knows what to say and when not to say it.
when i was diagnosed with MS last year, she sent me starbucks gift cards.
picture source
she's shown up for me in the darkest parts of life, 
as well as the lighter parts.
the lighter parts as in why do our toddlers never sleep?
 i hang the phone up and smile.
how blessed i am to have such friends.
and then i realize.
never, ever, ever would i tell you about my closet friend by describing her dress size.
never ever ever would i describe her by how her clothes fit or don't fit.
why do i do that to myself, then?
      why do i see a saggy stomach and curvy thighs instead of a compassionate heart?
why do i see stretch marks and vericose veins  and pore sizes 
instead of a willing, kind spirit?
i need to, we need to, extend the same grace to our own bodies as we do our friends'.
we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
in HIS image.
not the image of pencil-thin-but-curvy-in-the-right-places girls 
we see on TV all day, every day.

while still trying to lose 10 more pounds,
i try to realize that people are not focusing on all the {bad} i see in my body.
today, look at yourself like your friends would.
i'm going to try to. and i'm going to try to realize that, at my funeral,
people aren't going to be talking about my waist size.

 Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day.
psalm 139
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