Ode To A Lumpy Body

Hairy legs and sun-burnt nose
When at the beach, anything goes.
Unbrushed teeth and happy-hour drinks
This much I know: my breath stinks.
Fish for dinner plus a fruity potion
Diet be damned, I'm at the ocean.
Sand in my bed, and in my salt-fried hair,
Sir, what is the time? Wait. Why do I care??
It's here that I feel no virus, pain, or LAM -
Must be the thick presence, of the great I AM.

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Just a couple of days ago I slipped into my new bikini and Brenda and I headed out for a walk along the Gulf of Mexico in Puerto Vallarta. We felt so important – staying at a swanky resort where budding American accountants and their wives went to feel more successful than they actually were.

We turned the heads of both the locals and tourists. We heard the comments – the catcalls – and laughed at the power of the female anatomy. Perhaps we did stick out – both young, fresh blondes in our little bikinis. And Brenda is tall – really tall – and her long, lean legs stop somewhere around her neck. I’m not tall, nor would anyone ever describe me as “lean,” but I don’t think people gouge their eyes out when they see me either. Some of our admirers even followed us into the bars at night and tried to dance with us. Our husbands just laughed – knowing they alone held our hearts.

Then a few days passed.

Today I slipped on my Grandma-style black bathing skirt and floppy top – a two-piece ensemble designed to masquerade the wrinkles, bumps and lumps of old ladies. When I finally put down my reading glasses and book on racial reconciliation and headed out for my daily beach walk, I had an indescribable sense of peace. There was no need to “suck it in,” apply lip gloss, or make sure my skin was shiny with tanning oil because nothing I do at this point improves the situation anyway. I don’t turn heads anymore and I’m not mad about it. It’s so much easier and freer these days. But as I watch all the bikini-girls walk on by, I think to myself, “Oh I remember those days. That was just a couple of days ago for me.”

And in between those couple of days this body did a couple of things. It grew five babies in its womb. Three of them made it out alive, two went directly to heaven and we never even knew their gender.

And both the joy and the sadness of each of those babies resulted in wrinkles and a little less “perk” to this body.

This body wiped about a million butts. Between my own babys’ butts, butts at the nursing home, and butts at the hospital, a million could be a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s a ridiculously high number.

And all those many, many nights of getting up with babies coupled with the graveyard shifts at the hospital working in the ICU and caring for precious souls whose actual LIFE hung in the balance just piled on the wrinkles, the eye-bags and overall “sagging.” Some days it was as if I could physically FEEL my body sagging as I drove home from the hospital, bearing the burdens of deep sadness experienced in the ICU.

This body packed up four children and an entire household 11 times. Four of those times were to and from far away countries. This body has slept in tents, in negative five-star hotels, under the stars and on the floor of the Sahara Desert.

And all those achy muscles and bones from asking this body to go above and beyond its normal strain left this body a little more worn and limping. More bumps, more bruises, more sagging.

This body has cried alongside Syrian refugees and widowed Guatemalan women. It’s heard the stories of Jews living in a kibbutz and Moroccans living in shantytowns. It’s befriended the homeless and the helpless, those that have much and those that will never have any. It’s worked tirelessly to bring peace and comfort to the psychologically challenged. And currently, it grieves for Afghanistan and her people, those picking up pieces of their lives after a natural disaster, those affected and infected by COVID, and those who have misplaced their peace because of internet lies. But this body has never given up hope that the shalom of Christ is possible here on earth.

With each new discovery of the world’s many crises, its needs and its sorrows, this body sagged a little further. It sagged even as it considered all the possible ways to help make a difference. Believing change can happen and working hard to BE that change, no doubt, is exhausting.

This body has held the hands of many people as they took their final breaths – patients, close friends, and dear, precious family members. This body – specifically the heart and soul – has suffered more grief and loss than I thought a body could bear.

And I’m quite certain the most wrinkles, the most wear and tear on both the inside and the outside of this body have come from the sorrow. Sorrow, I believe, ages us the most.

Then a new shock sliced me open. This body somehow developed all kinds of holes in its lungs and now this body doesn’t breathe very well anymore. This body sometimes tells me it’s wearing out (like on the hot, humid, Michigan summer days, or when faced with more than 20 stairs) and it doesn’t feel like putting up a fight anymore.

And with each labored breath, I feel the work of this entire body doing its thing. Pumping its limited supply of oxygen where it’s needed the most. The work, the strain, the fatigue = more wrinkles, more sagging, more bumps and lumps as I sometimes eat my way out of the despair.

This body has served me well and I sure hope it doesn’t sound like I’m complaining. None of these bodies we inhabit were made to last forever and perhaps my temple expiration date is just a little sooner than others. This body has also lasted much longer than forecasted and the reality of that miracle is not lost on me.

Today, THIS body has earned its wrinkles, its sags and lumps and bumps and proudly walks the beach in the Grandma bathing suit because – OH WOW! – I’m alive!!! I would never want to go back to the woman who wore the bikini. My life is testimony to the beauty of the hard work done by my body.

Let’s celebrate these masterfully made bodies, friends. These are miraculous gifts that – in spite of things like cancer and cerebral palsy and limb difference and high cholesterol – house our heart and soul and allow us to breathe and love and care and serve. We may not have been given the body we wanted, or the body that’s as healthy as we’d like; but if we’re alive, then at least we HAVE a body and whatever it looks like, it’s a freakin’ miracle!

Let’s give God glory for these glorious bodies today, shall we???

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