Hard

You can’t take back what you have done/You gotta keep your heart young.
-Brandi Carlile

In our tough and often unbending world our gentleness can be a vivid reminder of the presence of God among us.
-Henri Nouwen

I’m afraid the pain will make me hard. Anxious that the aches will dry up whatever gentleness I had left in me. That the pain will only give me eyes for myself. I see people all the time with chronic pain and the elderly in tired bodies. Some of them have deep lines etched into their faces, and even speaking or pulling out a piece of paper to hand me takes too much effort. Some of them speak soft and gentle, with eyes that know pain but still contain light. And  life and pain have taken too much from others still, leaving them with permanent pain lines, with an eternal sharp tone, always expecting the worst.

These are some of the bruised wicks, broken reeds among us. I suppose we really are all in chronic pain of some kind, chronic brokenness. I’ll be honest, I too feel like a bruised wick most of the time. Unable to hold a flame, or keep a light burning. Every day, I rise and wonder if this will be the day I can’t make it. Will the pain, the exhaustion be too much this day? Most days I can set my mouth and go about the day’s tasks, only to fall on my couch at the end of the day in a wrung-out heap. I can’t keep up with everything asked of me, or everything I want to do. And it seems like every time I start to do something healing, like take up walking or stretching or giving up dairy, something else happens to put me back to square one. Maybe it’s like climbing up a huge mountain and being told not to look down. Maybe it’s not always a good idea to dwell on where you’ve been and what you‘ve lost or given up. Maybe you really need to just focus on what’s in front of you. Take another step. When I stop to think about how long this journey to health has been going on, it’s discouraging. When I think of all the supplements, the rest, the Netflix marathons, the sick time taken, the waiting rooms, the tests, the food sensitivities, the unknowns, the suffered relationships, well-it’s heartbreaking.

With no obvious answers or ease of pain about to happen, I see these as choices before me…gentle or hard, soft or hard, tight or flexible, peaceful or anxious. What will I choose this day? I am determined to choose life, to choose faith. To do what I can do, and not merely focus on what I can’t. To be thankful for the gifts that God has given me-the husband, the grace, the friends, the family, the job, the freedom, the rain, the gospel, the God-Man of Jesus Himself, His precious Word, and words themselves. To still have eyes to see the glory of nature, the glory of humankind. To still have a heart that breaks with the sorrows of the world--bombings and kidnappings and lives broken and lost. To still have hands that can work and reach out to comfort others. To still have a sense of humor and goodwill in this world. To still have ears that hear the music of pianos and guitars and human voices and babies in churches and waiting rooms. To still have feet to sink sand-deep and run in waves. I will keep asking, seeking, knocking, and remember the gentleness and love of a Savior King who went through so much more for the redemption of this entire sad and beautiful world.

Body

You have to walk like you have three men behind you.

-Oscar de la Renta

I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

-David, Psalm 139

My friend Amy once told me that it was ok, even good for bodies to change. Actually, she said that it was beautiful. This was after I told her I’d gained some weight and my face was oily and acne-scarred, and I was really upset about my haggard appearance. I hadn’t been exercising or taking much care of myself much. Honestly, there wasn’t much to be proud of whenever I looked in the mirror. When Amy said that Big Truth to me, I was stunned. Oh. Wait. Really? Yes, yes, it is good for bodies to age. No one had ever told me this. It’s beautiful for a 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 year-old to freaking change, to not have the body of someone younger or with a different shape. It’s even beautiful to embrace and love whatever your body looks like. Own it, sister.  

Since that time, I’ve started to see my body as a beautiful thing. I’ve never really heard that it’s ok to see it that way. I used to think I needed to hate it, beat up on it, only see the blemishes, only tell others about the flaws. I never felt really at home in my own body as a teenager, as a young adult. But I started to relax about it. I’ve been feeding my body cookies, kale, coconut oil AND coconut ice cream, carrots, cake, and some really weird hippie stuff. I let it lounge on the couch, then I try to take it on a walk or curl into a yoga pose. I also try to paint my toenails sometimes, or experiment with a curling iron. I want to feel pretty. I admit it! I give it loads of coffee, water, and the occasional margarita. What can I say...I’m all about hydration. I want to feel at home in my own skin. I want to feel my muscles move and become strong. I want to stretch and not die when I try to touch my toes. I want to feel free and love my body. There, I said it. And you know what, I think I really do. 

Of course, it’s not that easy all the time, is it? I’ve been struggling with health for a few years, and it’s a slow process back to some kind of move-ability, health-ability. Food allergies kick one’s tail, it appears. So does stress. The mirror still tells me I look haggard and pale. So it’s been baby steps back to health. I’ve realized that health is not a given at any time. Health can be taken at any time, and put you back any number of devastating steps. There are times when I’m really tempted to be angry and tell my body it’s stupid. Ok, a lot of times. Fine, MOST TIMES. But then I think back to what Amy said, and then I remember truths about being fearfully and wonderfully made, and how Jesus came to heal sick and broken hearts and bodies, and I am encouraged to keep going, to keep trusting that even my sick body is worthy, lovely, and even beautiful. Just how it is. Un-toned. Unable to do even half a girl-pushup. Still acne-scarred. Covered and drenched in aches and pains most times. Participating in Mostly-No-Shave-Winter. 

I believe that when we embrace our bodies as they are, maybe even be kind to them, we proclaim God’s glory in them. God’s glory and creativity and joy in life can be seen by everyone in our bodies. The apostle Paul, himself a man with physical troubles, says that if we are followers of Christ, then we carry in our bodies the death of Jesus. So that the life of Jesus may also be seen in the same bodies! Your body is worthy of kindness and attention-it carries around the essence of God Himself. What a glorious mystery, what a somber truth, what an astounding thing. Your body, as it is right now, is beautiful. Your body, as it is, shows the world His truth and love. Your body is a temple of the living God. Right now. 

So go out there and give thanks by doing what makes you feel beautiful. Maybe even gorgeous? Drink lots of water. Buy new lip gloss. Don’t wait till you’ve lost weight or can run 30 minutes on the treadmill to buy a new sparkly dress or a gorgeous bouquet of fresh flowers. Go on a walk around your neighborhood. Have some friends over and make a meal. Do some art. Sit up straight. Write a poem. Take a really long hot bubble bath. Don’t forget your vitamin D if you live even remotely north of the equator. Go read Psalm 139 or 2 Corinthians 4.  Do some yoga. I don’t know! It’s whatever makes you feel lovely and beautiful as you are.