size does NOT matter... to those that matter

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 139:13-16 (the Message)  

 

Me, myself & I. 18 years old. Size 2. 100 pounds.

I used to keep a handful of jeans in the back of my closet. My ‘goal’ jeans. They were size 6, size 4 & size 2. Granted, even though I haven’t been able to squeeze my double digit tuckus into them since before I was 30… there was always the hope that someday… someday I would be ‘that cute’ again.

What a freakin’ lie strait from Captain S. Evil Pants. Both the size & the cute part.

Body image has always been a struggle for me. I go up. I go down. Stuff shifts. Yes shifts. 

For many years I thought my worth was wrapped up in what I looked like. I worked really hard to look like I thought I should. But two little babies & lack of sleep, a penchant for French fries & blatant disregard for exercise, & to be honest, the normal wear & tear of life & age all took their toll. One day I woke up & barely recognized myself or my muffin-top. How did I become this chunky monkey?

So I did the only rational thing… I totally freaked out, ran straight to the library & checked out one hundred & seventy two books on diet & another hundred on exercise. 

Oh yes people, I’ve done it all… counting calories, counting carbs, the cabbage soup diet, the South Beach diet, the lemonade diet, the one day, three day & seven day diet, the 24 day challenge. I’ve eaten hot dogs & beets & baked potatoes without butter. The only thing I haven’t tried, is the amputation diet… mostly cause I’m kinda attached to my appendages. We bought treadmill. We sold a treadmill. I’ve walked & ran, biked & snowshoed, cross country skied & for a brief time took up rollerblading. (Which I must tell you is much easier while pushing a running stroller.) Once I even ran up & down the stairs in our condo, carrying a gigantic stack of books on diet & exercise, cause my husband suggested that might work better than actually sitting around & reading them. Silly man.

But even with all of that obsessive & somewhat nonsensical behavior, the up & the down continued… & the jeans in the back… they seemed like a far off distant dream.

Me at the time of the terrible muffin top experience. & my little fam. Age 25. Size 7. 125 pounds.

It was about this time that I happened across a different kind of book. Written by authors Linda Dillow & Lorraine Pintus on the intimate issues of a woman’s heart & (gasp) sexuality… it so ministered to my heart. In the chapter called, “Where can I go to buy a new body?” Lorraine talks about the poor self image she had & how she finally decided to come to terms with it. She taped Psalm 139:14 to her bathroom mirror & stood naked in front of it. (Yes I realize this might seem a little weird but stay with me.) As she stood there she carefully looked over her body & thanked God for all of her parts… then she prayed the most beautiful prayer,

“God thank you for my body.

Thank you for knitting together my bones & muscles & then covering them with a soft fabric of skin.

Thank you for the curves, for the beauty you poured into every cell.

Oh God, thank you. Thank you that I can walk, I can hear, I can touch & smell & see.

I praise you!

Because I am fearfully & wonderfully made.”

I was so freakin' tired... & anxious to stop fighting the ugly weight battle that I decided to do the same thing. Don’t judge. I’m a hands on kind of learner so I often need to do something practical to truly ‘get’ a concept. 

I waited till my husband had gone off to work, after I had put my Kindergartner on the school bus & his little brother down for his nap. I locked my bedroom door & drug the floor length mirror out from the back of the closet… I’d like to explain what it was doing back there but that’s a whole other story for another day people. 

Anyhoo… I stripped down to nothing & looked. Well, at first I just peeked through the cracks of my fingers because… it felt a little weird… & I was a little scared to see what would be there… & ewe… 

You know where I am going here right? 

What I saw was… well it was something… & despite the initial shock & the fact that I was borderline traumatized, I could see that Lorraine was right. 

What a miracle my body was… even with my many imperfections… the stretch marks… the ‘shifting’… ok… & the sagging… & even the extra weight that had made BFFs with my body. Everything. God had made my body truly miraculous.

All of sudden, I was struck by this thought of, “What would it be like if I just worked on being healthy,not being obsessed with every little thing I put in my mouth or how much exercise I am or am not getting?” 

“What would it be like, if instead of putting so much time & energy on my outside appearance, if I focused on the inside of me?” 

“What if I carefully tended to the care & feeding of my soul?” 

Tears streamed down my face & dripped off my chin… Oh yes… pretty soon I was crying & heaving & hiccupping… it was all kinds of ugly. But there in my naked, ugly crying moment I was DONE. Done with the counting of calories & carbs. Done with the fad diets. Done with the running up & down my stairs with piles of heavy books. Done with the teetering down the block with wheels strapped to my feet & bribing my preschooler not to learn to ride a bike & please could I could push him ‘just a little while longer’ in his stroller. Done with the size 6’s, the size 4’s & those damned size 2’s. Yes I said it. Cause nobody who’s birthed two babies, is taller than five foot or doesn't have bones the size of a baby bird, has any business entertaining themselves with visions of flaunting around in those ridiculous things. 

Right about this time I heard a small voice at the locked door… “Mumma… whatcha doin?” Yeah… so much for naptime anyway. I dressed quickly to attend to my toddler & I left that bedroom changed. For real. & those jeans. Gone. My precious little boy (& aforementioned stretch mark giver) & I marched those teensy weensy things right on out to the dumpster & tossed them in. WHOOOOHOOOO! 

It was monumental. 

I’m sharing all of this with you today not because I want you to think I’m some kind of weirdo who secretly wants to be a nudist or something. I’m telling you this because I think so many of us women have bought into the lie that we are not enough… or maybe that we are too much. 

So often I hear women say things like, “I don’t like my nose, my hips, my hair, my eyes, my_____. I’m so fat, ugly, stupid, _____.” I’m not surprised really. Our American culture bombards us relentlessly with its warped sense of what beauty is.

Reverend James Hufstetler once wrote, “You will never really enjoy other people, you will never have stable emotions, you will never lead a life of godly contentment, you will never conquer jealousy and love others as you should until you thank God for making you the way He did.” 

Ouch.

To be honest with you, I’ll probably always be just a little bit fat but now I’m really OK with it. I’ve got far more important things to do than to worry about what size jeans I wear or what the scale says about me. 

Me & my great BIG fam this past winter. Age 41. 150 pounds. Why do I tell you this? Cause the truth hurts & the truth heals people. Right? Of course right! ;)

I know I am beautiful. God made me that way. 

& you... You are too.