A Weighty Series, part 16

Here we are, the grand finale. Quite appropriate, really, that a 5 part series turned into a 16 part series. For one, if you've read this blog much at all then you know I have the gift of long-windedness ;) Secondly, 16 is the greatest. number. ever. So yay. Every single post can be found right here in this list: part 1part 2part 3part 4part 5part 6part 7part 8part 9part 10part 11part 12part 13part 14, and part 15.

The Heart, Heart, Heart
If you never get anything from this series--and really, my blog in general--but this, then pay close attention. I pray it will stick: God looks at the heart. God knows if my heart is sinful from each bite I do or don't eat to each step I do or don't take.

He knows the same for you. He shaped you in your mother's womb, he knows each hair on your head, and he does care about your body and your health. He wants to delight with you when you finish your first half-marathon, if that's a desire you feel the freedom in Christ to pursue, and he wants to delight with you when you eat a big, umami-riffic plate of chicken fettuccine alfredo the night before. He wants to delight with you when you sit down and have lunch with your kids, enjoying every delicious bite of that classic pb & j and rejoicing as you laugh and wash every sticky finger of your young child(ren) without worrying about carbs to fat to protein ratios and high versus low glycemic index foods.

What If You Could Be Free?
Sweet sister, what if you were 20 pounds heavier than you might ever hope to be, but you found peace and joy and freedom there? What if you could have just as much joy in making gooey, fat filled, homemade macaroni and cheese as making protein powder and walnuts and flax filled raw energy bites? What if you could enjoy a cookie and enjoy seeing yourself progress through the levels of 30 Day Shred and both were worship? Doesn't that sound so much better than the mental torture of fighting to stay away from sweets, and then mentally calculating how much longer you'll have to stay on the treadmill to burn off those "sinful" 227 calories?

And, most importantly, what if you could look at your body in the mirror and just have peace? Maybe that peace is that you're in that healthy place, not needing to change much. Maybe that peace is that, like I aim to be during this season, you're worshiping Jesus and you are working hard at losing weight as a result of aiming to be healthier for Jesus' glory, to serve others and to your joy.

Ugly Caricature Me
First Seahawks game as a family, celebration dampened
by my feeling ugly.
I want to end with this. I'm already getting emotional, so bear with me. A few weeks ago while at a Seahawks game with Jason and Roger we took a picture. I had been having fun but then at picture time my mood plummeted.

I felt like my face looked horribly fat and was reticent to even post it to Facebook. Today I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror from the side and felt like my neck and face are just a nasty sheet of flat, ugly, fatness. Like you know when a simple cartoon is drawn to show a fat person and there's just a wide, straight line from forehead to shoulders to imply chubbiness and lack of definition? I feel like walking, breathing, that.

But then...sweet Jesus, thank you for the "but then." The next day we were at a friend's home and forgot Roger's swaddle blankets. I was laying on the floor with him trying to help him sleep. We lay there on our sides, facing one another, and without a twitch of my lips (Roger can't help but smile when I do, but I wasn't at the moment) Roger's face just lit up while staring at me. He reached out both hands, attached to precious but thin arms (much worry about being too thin has been spent on that boy from his doctors and parents, despite how incredibly much he eats!), and with surprising gentleness for his tender young age of 5 months at the time he caressed and explored my face. He never stopped smiling and his eyes sparkled.

Roger's Beautiful Mama
You see, Roger only knows that I'm his mama and I am the owner of the most beautiful woman's face he dare behold.

He doesn't see fat arms unworthy of wearing anything tank or sleeveless in public when he looks at me; Roger sees the arms that cradle, feed, clean, and play with him.

He doesn't see the fattest thighs in existence; Roger sees the lap he loves bouncing and snuggling on.

He doesn't see a gross, fat blob of a stomach; Roger sees the part of my body that gave him life and carried him for nearly 10 months.

He doesn't see saggy, depressing breasts; Roger sees those which gave him the best food on earth for as long as they could and now his favorite place in the world to snuggle up and feel safe and comforted.

Post-workout snuggle.
This is the way he looks at me, though here he's sick and usually
the smile is MUCH bigger :)
When my son looks at me, he sees exquisite beauty, unmatched by any other woman in the world. His mama's beauty far too great a gift and wonder to ever be compared to any standard of beauty beyond God's and what he knows in his heart to be true. Sure, Queen Esther was gorgeous and probably would have me beat in most every category were we to stand side by side, but when my son looks at me, he finds me perfectly "lovely to look at." Praise God.

May I never, ever give him reason to believe otherwise and may I repent quickly and rejoice with him in Jesus when I do. May you, too, know such sweet freedom. "Don't stop believin', my girl America."

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