The Inside Story

I have dimpled thighs.

And some gray hairs.

My teeth would be a whole lot whiter

if I drank less Diet Coke.

And you know what else?

I have a pooch.

No, not a dog, although I do have two of those.

No, I have a tummy pooch.

No washboard abs on this girl.

Not anymore, anyway.

I am imperfect.

Flawed.

Less than ideal.

But you know what else?

I am more than the sum of my parts.

My imperfect parts, that is.

I may be imperfect, but I am perfectly so.

Perfectly Imperfect.

Just like my well-loved French pitcher,
there is a beauty to my scars. 

My blemishes.

My signs of age.

A nobility to those wiry gray hairs,

and those crinkles now appearing
to frame my eyes and mouth.

As a woman, I struggle as to whether to

embrace or erase

these changes.

The culture as well as the cult of youth
encourages us to wish away

that which has been hard earned.

"How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth..."

{John Milton}

And yet, I know.

Oh yes, I most certainly do know...

That the measure of my worth

as a woman

and as a child of God

lies not in what the eye can see

but rather in what is hidden away from view.

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; 

it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, 
 what is essential is invisible to the eye.

 {Antoine de Saint-Exupéry}

Love yourselves, imperfections and all.

Just as God does.

"So we do not lose heart. 

Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day."

{2 Corinthians 4:16}