My body is something I’m proud of, not because I’ve made it into anything special, but because God created it to be this way and to sustain me in this life regardless of how well or poorly I treat it. I am amazed looking at it to notice the story it tells of my life. I see the red moles and my first thought is of my father who had many of them. I am part of his legacy. On the other hand, my freckles carry on more of my mother’s legacy as I received them from her. I can see where the sun has most greatly had an effect on me: over my shoulders and collar bone, on my arms starting below my shoulders and extending down to my fingers.
My own personal story is most clearly etched onto my face. That is why my eyes continue to be drawn back to it. I have a scar under my chin, grooved by four consecutive face plants. My eyes are the gateway to my soul, but the light horizontal lines that express my interest and lie across my forehead, the vertical lines between my furrowed brows that express consternation or deeper thought and the semi-circle smile lines around the edges of my lips expose the character of it.
I am thankful for what I see. There is intelligence behind those eyes. Thoughtfulness. A soul that is precious to its Maker. I look into it and see faint reflections of God’s character. Love, though often poorly expressed; joy, occasionally obscured by my false expectations of life; peace, often rejected by outbursts of anger; patience, undercut by my savior complex; kindness, bent to the point of breaking when tested; goodness, denied to others for their lack of it; gentleness, flaring into anger when frustrated; faithfulness, dropped when I break my word for a “better” offer; self-control, sacrificed for instant gratification. But deeper to my hypocrisy (a comfort for the knowledge that I have standards), is the Spirit of my Maker. The Animator of my body. The Breath that gave it life.
When I take it all in - my father, my mother, myself - I see a story of faithfulness intricately woven throughout the generations. I am part of the vast story my heavenly Father is seeking to tell. His glory is being revealed through the hypocrisy of it. Where my failures have abounded, His grace has abounded all the more. Where my deeds have brought down my eyes, He has lifted up my head. That is the testament of my body. It should have returned to the dust from where it came by now, but it has been sustained purely by grace and love until the infinitely finite purpose for which it was given is exhausted on that last day. So within my eyes and the latent energy within me I see the promise of better things to come. I have the expectation of a body that no longer pains me from sitting in one position for an hour; a mind that doesn't tire from contemplating glory for a few minutes. Moles, freckles, scars and all, I am my heavenly Father’s legacy.
