A Tribute to My Body

In case some of you didn’t realize that  my last post was tongue-in-cheek😲, I want to tell you that I don’t follow any of  those suggestions to maintain self-esteem! I haven’t covered my mirrors or installed pink light bulbs, and I always take baths not showers! 

I realized years ago: The problem isn’t with your body–the problem is how you think of it! And I vowed to accept with gratitude what I am and what I have.

I like my bony, wrinkled, spotty, veiny hands. My long fingers have tinkled the ivories, plucked a guitar, played an oboe–though not very well. My hands have held a tennis racquet, soothed a crying baby, made mud pies, rolled candy cane cookies, sculled in synchronized swimming, written copious notes, and held a steering wheel for thousands of miles. They are good sturdy hands, not very pretty but extremely useful. 

My feet, as bony and ugly as my hands, have walked down paths less traveled, paced the floors of hospital rooms, stepped down from trains to meet my Mama and my Papa, and carried me when I thought I couldn’t take another step. 

My legs may be skinny and knobby-kneed but they have been sufficient to hold up the torso atop them, to propel me through many a breaststroke race, climb to lofty heights, and provide an adequate base for kneeling in prayer.

My heart has felt the passion from Cupid’s arrow, nearly burst with pride and joy, been broken into pieces, and kept beating faithfully through it all.
        A big thanks to my body for your years of service. And thanks to God because "I am fearfully and wonderfully made."