Dear girl (of any age), You have a beautiful body

A crisp, wintry breeze is blowing. Birdsong twinkles sheer joy in the air, and Papa, He’s walking ‘longside.

“Thank You,” I say, “for this breeze. For these blessings. Thank You for Your love, Your acceptance.”

Heart turned toward praise, I suddenly remember the day He’d said it. He’d surprised me. “I want to bless your femininity.” And where there’d once been a curse with such wounding and shame, He’d laid His sweet hands on me and blessed me.

“Papa,” I say in morning’s hush, “I want to receive Your blessing again on my femininity.”

Shoes slapping on pavement, I recall at once another day’s run, another sweet talk, and my heart now, remembering, quickens. “I handcrafted your vessel. I drafted your pattern. Designed it deliberately and on purpose. I chose it. I made it. It’s the place where I live.” And I remember the awe that came sweeping.

All of this is coming to me again today as I’m walking along, and right there on our country road, the oddest thing starts to happen. This girl, once bound up by shame, a prisoner of fear, gives thanks. For her body.

“Thank You, Papa,” I say, “for making me a girl. Thank You for my body that has conceived and borne four sons. Thank You for my breasts that You shaped and formed. Thank You that they have nourished and sustained our babies. Thank You for arms to cuddle them, that I could sing and pray over them.

“Thank You that my husband loves my body just as it is. Thank You that I can console and comfort and gladden his heart. With my body.”

And then this: “Thank You that You chose before I was ever conceived that I would be a girl. That You made this house, this vessel so You would have a place to dwell. Here on earth.”

I’m overwhelmed with joy and thankfulness. Walking along, I feel His smile, I feel Papa’s love. I know that He cares for my heart. And my body.

Just as He cares for yours.

Dear sister. You who struggle as I have, too. Struggle to accept your body. If you, too, have been wounded by shame; by wrong teaching and lies; by the false, harmful concepts of beauty, what I would tell you over coffee is this…

That your body is beautiful. It’s beautiful because He formed it, fashioned it with His fingers. It’s His temple, the place that He lives. That’s not ugly.

What the world teaches is “temple worship.” Yes, it is. The worship and elevation of the dwelling over the divine Dweller. And that’s wrong.

But it’s also worldly (it’s never of God) for a woman to hate the dwelling. Of the Dweller! We spit in God’s eye; we impugn and insult when we say what He’s made isn’t good.Let’s repent.

If your womb has conceived, your body has borne babies, that’s a beautiful, beautiful thing. You’re partnering with the Creator of Life.

If your breasts have fed and sustained your sweet infants, give thanks! Don’t despise what He’s made. (And here, let me just say that if Solomon could paint lovely pictures of bodies in God’s word, I can use the word ‘breasts’ on my blog. See me grin.)

If your physical being delights your own husband; comforts, consoles, and excites, give Him praise! You’re both needing some “Fourth of July.” (See me wink.)

If you, sweet thing, aren’t the shape that you’d wanted, take heart. And know this…that just because a temple is gorgeous on the outside doesn’t mean it’s as lovely within. It can be rotten. So don’t judge by what you can see (you or others).

And remember, you’re the work of His hands. You’re His dwelling, and He inhabits your being.What beauty!

For those of you who’ve never been married, whose wombs have been empty and barren, you’re included. You’ve not been left out. You, too, are partners with Life. Yes, you are.

When you nurture the weak ones, comfort the hurting. When you minister to other folks’ needs, you’re a life-giver.

When you open your home right along with your heart to feed and encourage another, you’re a life-giver.

If the Spirit of God is living inside you, your body’s a temple, and that’s lovely. Don’t despise it.

Dear girl (of any age from 1 to 100), you have a beautiful body. And you’re loved.

With warm affection from the Girl Who Loves Orange,

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