Getting My Body Back

A very vivid memory from my childhood often comes back to me . . .  my Mom in the kitchen, busy with something, and me wrapping my little girl arms around her soft waist--the love that I felt for my Mom and the certain knowing that she was there for me, that she loved me and constantly gave all of herself to raise me and my sisters. 

Wrapping my arms around that waist that had given--had been stretched and used and worn from giving life to us, to me--her beautiful motherly body that was not tight and firm and toned. 

Something that has had a great effect upon me in my own life has been the way in which my Mom gave everything towards raising her children and walking transparently before the Lord. 

Her devotion to Him came first--I remember her always with her Bible in the morning having her quiet time and seeking the Lord throughout her day, even though it was busy with children. 

And something that had a profound effect upon me was that my Mom's focus was not on her outward appearance, but on her inward relationship to the Lord. This didn't mean that she didn't dress attractively or wear makeup or exercise--my Mom maintained a neat and feminine appearance and exercised when she could. But her focus day in and day out was in giving herself in raising my sisters and I to know and to love the Lord. The other things were secondary and she would quickly forfeit them if it was a choice between her children or her appearance, even to the point of not buying herself new clothing for lengths of time so that she could afford to send us to a Christian school. 

My Mom's focus was on the spiritual and this played into every area of her life. I watched that kind of example growing up. 

I have a personality that craves order and discipline. It's the way that the Lord made me and He has used that for good in my life. But at times, if I am not watchful, it can become a distraction from that deeper more intimate walk with the Lord that my heart truly craves. 

For this reason, I have been very careful in the past with what I ate and making sure that I exercised regularly. I love to walk and so this was an almost daily part of my life, especially before I had children. I consumed broccoli religiously and ate in an otherwise extremely healthy way. 

And then I had children . . . and as anyone who has had children knows, the body goes through extreme changes, both physically and emotionally. 

Both of my births were difficult. I experienced extreme tearing during my first birth and faced a long healing process. My second birth which I chose to do naturally without pain medication took a toll on my body (looking back on that experience I would have chosen to do things differently now, but that is another blog post!) My son was born face down--in posterior position (in the Lord's mercy I delivered him without having a C-section) but my body was physically "broken." Again, I faced a long healing process and couldn't get my body back to normal.

And so, with a "broken" body, I faced caring for two little ones, 18 months apart. 

I struggled. And I just couldn't seem to get my body back into that same pattern of order and discipline that I had maintained before having babies. 

I was nursing, I was weak to the point where I struggled to pick myself up from the floor when I was sitting down with my children. 

And I felt frustrated at times--honestly--frustrated that I just couldn't get my body back--just couldn't fit into my jeans that I wore before I had children. Frustrated that I just couldn't seem to get it under control.

I, me, my body. 

Until the Lord spoke to me, quietly at first, and then with increasing strength--

My work was to focus on the two tiny souls He had given me--to raise to nurture, to love, to enjoy--to train up in His ways.

My work, as He spoke to me strongly one night, was to feed His sheep, and for me, this is to teach my two precious little ones, Deborah and Elisha, to know and to love Him. 

My focus in some ways needed to shift. 

And what I am not saying is that one shouldn't live a disciplined life, exercise, eat healthily, and take care of one's physical body. Our Pastor illustrated this beautifully in a recent sermon--he said that when we place the Lord first, when He is all in all to us, everything else falls into its proper order and place--in other words, through seeking His kingdom first, everything else will be added . . . when we place Him first, everything else falls into place. 

This way of living brings freedom . . . 

The Lord, and it is difficult to describe this completely, but a transformation took place in my heart at one point, replaced my natural motherly care and general love for my children (which I believe that every mother has) with a deep, strong, spiritual love for them. I cannot describe this, but He did. And it has been like a beautiful flower growing in my heart--I love them spiritually and I want them to know Him. 

This has cost me my body. 

The natural part of mothering in childbirth has cost me my body--my body will never look the same again--and it doesn't have to--who are we to hold on to this physical body in a way that rebels against any change to it? 

Are stretch marks and scars really the enemy? Do we need to stress and fuss and fume and desperately grasp at trying everything possible--every trick, gimmick, and exercise technique to get our body back? Again, I am not at all saying that it is wrong to exercise after we have children (I still enjoy walking, only now I do it with my children!)--what I am trying to say is that when getting our body back becomes the focus, we have lost something of spiritual significance--the willingness to give even if it means that we can't maintain the "perfect" body. The focus is "off" when we cling to the notion that we need to be a certain weight or a certain size in order to be content instead of resting in the Lord and concentrating on His present will for our lives. Perhaps the real enemy is holding onto something that we need to be willing to let go of. 

Our body is given in order to give it back--because it always comes down to surrender--whether or not we are willing to give something lesser for the greater--just as Jesus did. 

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich. II Corinthians 8:9 NKJV

To give back spiritually --we give our body spiritually when we sacrifice what we could have had in order to give to another--a "perfect" body for the stretches and scars of motherhood, our time, our passions, our lives--for the life of another--for the lives of little ones, for the Lord's sake. 

There is a character  in one of my sister's novels, The House of Mercy who would have been physically handsome except for the fact that his face bears a garish scar. He is one of my favorite characters, even more than the hero in that novel. A deeply sensitive man, he marries a woman who became pregnant out of wedlock and takes her child as his own. He is a beautiful example of Christ-like love and his face and very life bear deep sorrows, wounds and scars. 

Sometimes scars, imperfections, can be things of great beauty--can actually draw rather than repel. 

Jesus was scarred--He bore the scars of the nail prints in His hands--nail prints of love and evidence of a body broken. Broken for us. His body was used for our benefit. We follow His example when we give our bodies for the sake of our children, or even for the sake of spiritual children, such as missionaries whose bodies have been broken down by years of fasting and toil and ministry. It is worth it. 

I remember hugging my Mom's waist, her selfless, Christ-like giving and I remember that ancient truth that burns in the heart when we embrace it--we receive when we give. We possess when we let go. He who seeks to save his life will lose it but he who loses his life for My sake will truly possess it. 

And this is how I have gotten my body back. 



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The Sacrifice--A Poem

O Light of Grace
I lift my eyes--
The sacrifice
Lays on the altar stone
Alone
My timid heart 
With trepidation
Kneels before Your love

Remove my doubt
My clinging to
The things of dust
The clay
The heavy things
That weigh--
That weigh me down. 

I raise the knife
And flesh cries NO--

I go
Away and lay it down--the blade
Until my soul hangs heavy
Like a weight  around my neck
Regret will overcome me 
If I turn away 
From this stroke now. 

I place my heart--the dear thing-there upon the stone
The sacrifice lies still 
And in one final movement
Raise the knife and let it fall. 

My eyes are closed
My soul is stripped 
Of breath--

But when 
I tear these orbs away from darkness 
Into the expected sorrow 

I find there
Not the sacrifice I thought
But only grace sufficient
Hushing me with calm 
And offering the balm of hope



What was loss is gain
And in the dying ashes--life--
Not death--
But life
The Lamb of life--
Life fair
Looks back at me 
And laughs with joy. 

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The Risen Glory

Cross-made-homely, scorn-crowned, scarred-

the Crucified

His hands in flames

and feet

held captive by the nails

               that tore

His man-garb,

Splattered blood

on windy ground.

The sky

                fell dark

and ominous

The vale, dark-rent and torn asunder

                               while the thunder drowned

the drone of earth

                       As God - as Man

bowed down His head

                         surrendered up His soul

and died. The Crucified--

and It is Finished.

Finished--

                            Father-grace-bestowed

The Son-born-wrath

The anguished face, dark sky

and grace

washed over me

These beams of mercy

flood my soul

with light--------------

His life

                       for mine

                                      The creature-homely

Drinking fully

Deeply-

Glory, glory!

Finished grace

And mercy

                     Wholly

                     Richly satisfied

The blood applied.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friends, I pray that you have a blessed Easter celebrating the resurrection of our precious Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ . . . I'd like to offer you my devotional, This Last Surrender, for $0.99 (for Kindle only). Share it with a family member, friend, or download a copy for yourself! I pray that it will be a blessing and refreshment for you and draw your heart nearer to our Lord and Savior.

Find it on Amazon: HERE

You might find me on these link-ups:

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Stretch Marks and Surrender

She said that she was just being honest. 

She had two babies and she didn't think that she wanted to have any more--because she "wanted her body back." 


She was "just being honest" and she said what so many others are thinking--

But I wished that she hadn't just left it at that, "honest" though it was. 

And I look down at my eight-month-pregnant belly and I touch the stretch marks--all red and glaring and unlovely and think--

There are things more important than stretch marks--(and won't I get my new body in heaven, anyway?)--

And I think of my tiny daughter and the baby growing inside of me--and the stretch marks become a thing of almost-beauty, a thing of surrender, a thing of sacrifice. 

My body for the life of another, for the sake of another life brought into the world, a little person, a precious soul. 

The stretch marks take on a new significance. 

And I hear people talking and they speak my sometimes-thoughts--the thoughts that are selfish and unlovely--the thoughts that need to be yielded and surrendered to the One who purifies all things--

And they say, in essence, that they want to have all of their children in the span of a few years, so that they can "move on" with their lives, with their careers, with pursuing the things that bring them momentary happiness. 



Are children just another "nice thing" to tack on to our existence? Or is there something deeper? 

Children are eternal beings, eternal souls loaned to us for a season--that we may point them with all of our energies towards the Eternal Father who gave them to us. 

And we sometimes think--"oh, let me 'get past' this difficult season with my children"--the time of teething, or of sleepless nights, or cranky days, or times when our children are needy in some way. We wish that they would "hurry up" and be able to talk, or walk, or ride a bike, or go to school. 

But I'm learning--and it struck me recently--that every season in our children's lives is a gift. 

It struck me last night when I was awake with my daughter from 12:30 am until 3 in the morning-- when she finally fell back to sleep--when I felt overwhelmed and heavy with sleep and forced my weary pregnant body to give just a little more--even though I didn't want to. I found that I could take His strength and trust Him. 

Whether it be learning to walk or to talk or to tie shoes or to ride a bicycle for the first time--

Or whether it be the sleepless nights, the teething, the tantrums, the cranky days, the setbacks--these are gifts too--unlikely as it may seem--to teach us to depend more upon our Heavenly Father and to entrust our children to Him, and to His wisdom. 

Each day is a gift, an opportunity to depend upon the Lord in whatever set of circumstances that He hands us with our children. 

And sometimes it is really hard, and we feel like we are "losing it," and we just want the day to be over, for the turmoil to stop. 

But He gives more grace in those situations, in whatever form it may take . . . He gives us grace, if we will depend on Him and surrender. 

I want my body back . . . 

Or my career back . . . 

Or my freedom back . . . 

Or my time back. 

But it isn't mine---

Sometimes I forget that--

It belongs to Him--it is "mine" only to surrender, to serve, and to yield. 

Children can be very good teachers . . . 

So I yield to Him--

My body--just as Jesus did, and bore the scars of submission and sacrifice. 

My career--because my "work is to do His will," in whatever form that may take as He directs my steps.

My freedom--because in Him only is my soul truly free--not in doing what I "want" or what the world says that I should want or deserve.

My time--because "my times are in His hands." 

Children aren't a thing to "get through," but rather to embrace, to cherish, to love, to raise up in the fear and submission of God. 

And sometimes it is hard--but ultimately, worth it. 

And the blessing rests upon those who will surrender. 

My body, my freedom, my time, my plans . . . and hand them over to Him--the One who is all-wise. 

And trust. 

That the seed that is buried will yield its fruit in due time--to the joy and blessing of our eternal hearts. 


Photo Credits: Amalia Lindegren [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons   (little girl)
Henri-Edmond Cross [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons  (mother with baby painting)
By William H. Majoros (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons (robin)




You might find me on these link-ups:

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Jesus is Enough . . . Easter Memories and Mercies

We sat there together on the chalky white bench.

Chips of paint peeling off and dropping like ants to the ground. 

Londie and I . . . sisters in our freshly-pressed Easter clothes, squeaky new shoes on our feet. 

We always wore our new church shoes on Easter Day. 

My Mom would take us to the old Ames, or to Ann and Hope, and we would pick out shoes for Easter -- shoes that we would be able to wear to church through the summer. 

I remember the white patent leather and trying not to let my new shoes get any black smudges on them. 

We were so excited . . . 

Easter was so special to us . . . 

The Day of Resurrection, of joy, of hope after the long days of Winter. 

A Day to celebrate our Risen Lord and the glory that He has shed abroad in our hearts. 

I remember my Mama's face shining in church, the hope in her eyes as she sang the beautiful Easter hymns with gusto. My Mama loved much . . . and loves much still . . . 

My Mom and sister, Londie--shortly after my Mom became a Christian

And my sister, Londie, so full of spunk and like a little mother to me, always helping, always encouraging, always guiding without bossing, her voice scratchy and strong, singing the hymns, too. 

And then little Lishy, her tiny, short legs swinging in the church pew, her long hair tumbling down around her big, lovely, searching eyes.  

Finally, me, smack in the middle -- frizzy dark hair wisping around my face -- my aspirations in those days mainly limited to trying to imitate Sandy Patti, and getting to act the part of "Laura" in all of our Little House on the Prairie imaginary play. 

We would go home to the crispy browned ham and to the lovely round rolls and to our earlier-opened Easter baskets. And desserts would be at Auntie's -- all the wealth and fanfare of an Italian family's delicious sweet spread. 

Easter was so special . . . 

My Mom, beforehand, would prepare her "Easter bread," a huge anise-flavored braid, shiny and decadently-festooned with bright Easter eggs all colored and tucked in to its creases all around. 

And we would cut huge chunks of it and revel in all of its bready goodness. 

We didn't have much, but we had Jesus, and He is enough. 

Easter was special and Jesus risen and our hearts glad . . . 

The glory of our hearts and the light of our eyes -- a time for celebration and rejoicing -- a time to delight in His precious gift of life. 

A time to shout for joy in our hearts and to wear our new shoes and to proclaim that He is risen indeed . . . 

For He is . . . 

An Answered Prayer and a Beautiful Gift

Then Mary took a pound of very costly oil of spikenard, anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped His feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

John 12:3

I listen to an audio recording of the life of Lillian Trasher and the tears spring to my eyes. A life of faith, lived out in trust, for so she believed the promises and found Him faithful-- Through acting upon the precious Word of God, the precious Word to her soul, when all around her seemed impossible, He was the God who saw and heard and listened and answered. 

I sought the Lord, and He heard me,

And delivered me from all my fears.

They looked to Him and were radiant,

And their faces were not ashamed.

This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him,

And saved him out of all his troubles. 

Psalm 34:4-6

Praise stirs in my heart and the gentle laughter of thanksgiving . . . a prayer answered. The Lord sought . . . in fasting and prayer these last weeks and I asked the Lord to reveal in my present circumstances that He would provide for the ministry that He called me to, that He presses upon my heart. Unexpected . . . someone gave . . . so unexpected; unasked for, except to the Lord, the answer came and my soul bubbled up in quiet praise. 

The firstfruit and the glory of heaven; the banner raised in my soul. 

And I write about it here because not only was it an answer to my prayers, but it was also a beautiful gift, a gift that astonished me and surprised me and was wrapped in a sacrifice, by the grace of God, who gave Himself first, an offering for all, so that we could also give. 

Someone unexpected gave, gave everything that they had, offered up a sacrifice, took the flask and broke it over the feet of Jesus. 

And the fragrance filled my heart . . . 

The fragrance rose, a precious gift; this individual spared nothing and gave. 

One of the poor in this world but rich in faith gave, and the beauty fell. 

Gave not because there was something to fall back on, because there were adequate savings in the bank, but because God constrained them in His love and this small, humble servant obeyed. 

And I praise Him. An answer to prayer, an encouragement again to live by faith. The gift and the promise and the sacrifice. Because the gift should always have something of the sacrifice in it, if it is pure . . .

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. 

And blessed is the one who gives out of their poverty, who gives not from their abundance but from their joy . . .

for all these out of their abundance have put in offerings for God, but she out of her poverty put in all the livelihood that she had.

Luke 21:4

A Life of Joy

Walking in the woods, the pine needles crisp beneath my feet, my soul looks upward, towards the rich, fading sky. I walk in the woods because it helps me to think, clears my mind of distractions, sets my heart on the things above. I sense His presence more deeply here, in the quietness. 

We used to walk in the woods with my Mama. When we were little girls she spent her days with us, gave up her own dreams of pursuing, of becoming so that we could “become,” so that she could encourage our souls into the Savior, lead us to that place of decision, nurture us as only she could. In losing, in “giving up,” in bowing down, she was lifted up, and “became” what God had purposed for her life. We always drove an old car, always wore hand-me-downs; our vacations were simple camping trips. And we were happy, comforted by her being there, content with less because we were rich in our Mother’s love and in our Heavenly Father’s care. 

I meet people that I know and they ask me how do I like staying at home now, how do I like “not working?” And I have to humble myself, bow my pride low before Jesus, answer, think with understanding. Have I ever “worked” harder in my life? When my goals were purely academic, did I even burn the midnight oil then as I do now?—when my baby cries for the sixth, for the seventh time and it is 5am and I am bone-weary? Because before my goals were for myself, my work was towards self-advancement—now, it is bent towards the welfare of another life. It is difficult to lay myself down, consistently, day-in and day-out—and in my humanness, I often complain; I don’t do it perfectly. It is difficult to lay oneself down in a society screaming for self-realization, self-fulfillment, and a “you deserve it” mentality. 

I love my baby, and it is because I love her that I lay myself down—as every mother does, through the sleepless, fitful nights, through the colic, through the fussiness, through the sickness, through the helplessness of these small ones, these tiny infant souls. 

And they say to me “I wish that I could do that; stay at home with my baby; you must be very financially secure.” 

Is money the answer to everything? Is worldly security the answer to a life of joy? Do I tell them that my husband and I share a car--an old car, that we very rarely travel, that we eat beans and a lot of spaghetti? That my clothing comes from consignment shops, that we can’t afford K-cups, that I don’t “get my nails done.” Or do I humble myself and smile and try to live before them a life that is different, the life that the Father has called me to at this time, and that only by the grace of God . . . ? 

Is it “wrong” for a woman to pursue her own goals, apart from raising her children, apart from her family? Is it wrong for a woman to seek a job, seek a career, spend her time chasing, self-fulfilling? Only the individual can answer that question before God, in the quiet conscience of her heart. And there are varying situations which may call for varying answers of how this may work itself out . . . but the question always comes, the piercing question—Am I laying myself down? Am I sincerely following the Father’s leading upon my life or the pattern that society has laid before me, imposed upon me, backed my conscience into a corner with? Am I empty, ready to be filled with joy? Or am I so “full” of this world’s treasures and comforts that I don’t even comprehend what real joy is? “He who would follow Me must deny himself, take up his cross and follow . . .”(Matthew 16:24). “He who would seek to save his own life will lose it, but he who loses his life for My sake will find it . . .” (Matthew 16:25). “He who gives up houses and lands in this life . . .” (Matthew 19:29).

What am I doing with my life, the life that the Son of Man has entrusted to me, the Son of Man who had no place to lay His head? And will it matter for eternity—and for a life of joy in the now? Every man, every woman has to answer that question before the Father. 

But I want what I am doing to matter, not to be burned up as chaff on that Great Day. And my soul cries out to hear those words spoken to me, through the blood of Christ—“Well done, thou good and faithful servant . . .” For this is joy realized and tasted; this is life and glory. 

Why Did I Begin This Blog?

Who knew that when I became a mother there would be so little time? So little time and yet so much—scraps and smidgens and traces of time—napping times and feeding times and weekend times and times when she falls asleep on my lap and I must be still and middle of the night times when I just can’t fall back to sleep.

So little time and so much and thoughts racing, racing through my head and blood pumping through my heart, a heart that has begun to skip beats under the stresses and strains of this new and beautiful and fearsome thing called motherhood.

So thoughts racing through my head and feelings and convictions and I want to write and convey the ideas and the offerings of hope that I’ve gained through suffering and struggling and trying and failing and trying and taking strength from One who is greater than I am and who breathes His strength through my weakness and prays for me when I cannot find the words with “groans too deep for words.”

He is enough, His strength is enough, His grace is enough, and if these things were not true, if Jesus were not enough then life would not be worth living and this blog would not be worth writing and I would probably be in a different place—fulfilling my once-dream of becoming—becoming an English professor, or singing professionally, things that I once thought gain to me.

Yet now I have learned, through suffering, through submission, through listening, that my becoming is not in myself, but in Him, in becoming who He wants me to be, in doing that which He has called me to do, in fulfilling the ministry that He has placed upon my life-conscience, to spend and to be spent not for myself, but for Him. And in seeking Him first, ultimate fulfillment comes. And I can live and breathe and walk without fear in this frightening world, being light in the ever-increasing darkness. For as George MacDonald says in his work Lilith, “It is always darkest before the dawn,” the dawn of the new creation, of a new heavens and a new earth, in which glory dwells.

Martin Luther, that savory old Reformer, so man-earthy and so heavenly-minded once wrote, “the pen is mightier than the sword,” and he was right. The pen sets the sword to play, or the pen quiets it.

I want my “pen” to speak truth, not just to pour forth my own drivel-rantings. Then it would not be worth it to write. But I want to write and I want to write truth, and to edify. I pray that this blog may be edifying to one or to many. It is my creative project, my painting, my thought-prayer-release.

The name of the blog is “inspired” by a Lillias Trotter writing on submission to the Lord Jesus in every area of life, that the body may become a willing vessel to serve Him in this swift-fading world. She gleans her idea from the words of Paul where he confides to His readers and pours onto paper for the church just before His imminent death: “"For I am now ready to be offered.” II Timothy 4:6.

It will probably cover many topics, from motherhood to marriage, to the Christ-life, to my sorrows and my standings and my fallings and my joys. You may not agree with everything I write—good! As Ruth Graham says, “Where two people always agree, one is unnecessary.” Disagree, disagree prayerfully, disagree based on your own conviction from the Word of God. But let us both grow nearer to the God of the Word, who never changes and whose Word is truth, Who is the Word. There are many sides of the mountain, as my “unorthodox,” and yet so truly orthodox sister likes to say, but one mountain; remain faithful to Him and follow the convictions that He places upon your heart through the Word, in prayerfully seeking Him. May we both grow together in grace and may this blog, these writings, glorify the God-Man, to Whom one day, every knee will bow and all mysteries be revealed.

For we are to live our lives in such a way that our heart speaks back to the Savior who lived it first: “Now I am ready to be offered . . .” For isn’t this whole life a preparation for the next, a daily learning submission and readiness to be offered unto Him in every place of every day, whether consciously or subconsciously? May He teach us and chisel us and soften us and shape us, as our hearts cry out for readiness, to be offered unto Him.