Shoved to Them
I listened, this weekend, to a sermon on the resurrection of the body at the end of time. When I was younger, this was a joyous thought. I moved easily and gracefully through life, striding easily, walking tall. It is now something I wish we could do without. I’d rather just get to heaven and stay non-corporeal. I’d rather be light and floaty and just gliding about among the clouds and what-nots.
The truth is that I hate my body. H-A-T-E it . It’s heavy and cumbersome and slow. It’s tired and sluggish. There are weird aches and joints which lock up, and that strange poppy noise in my left knee when I squat. Throw in a healthy dose of stretched out, saggy, and floppy, and I’m thinking Purgatory sounds good if it means I can leave this body behind.
I know that our bodies will be perfected, but I’m not sure I want it back even if you fix the stuff that’s wrong with it. It’s like taking your car to the mechanic, he can fix it up so that it runs like new, but it won’t have that new car smell. How do you sell getting your own body back to people who are aged or sick or fat and uncomfortable and just want to leave this shell behind? If people are eager to be free, why are you offering them a cage?
I count my blessings daily. Everything works, for the most part. This body has been the means of production of all of our beautiful children. I am so grateful for them, but I hate what it has done to me. I long to feel strong and beautiful, but the tale of my life is written in every sag of flesh. (That’s a lovely image, isn’t it?)
The solution lies with me, and I know that. Run more, exercise more, eat less, pray unceasingly. I know all of these things in my mind, but I have tried them before and they haven’t worked. Perhaps the solution is acceptance. Learn to love that which I find imperfect in myself. Frankly, I don’t see that happening, but I can work on it. Or I can let go of my image of perfection and trust God that what he has planned is better than being able to wear a size 4. He’s never lied to me before. Please, oh please, let this one be true.
**Edited to Add** Don’t feel sorry for me, or think I am being hard on myself. I think that I am fabulous. I love my brain, my soul, my wit. I’m pretty darn cute and a great friend. I just happen to not be too fond of the body that holds it all together. I was pretty spoiled by what I had pre-children and the memory of it haunts me. I want my 16 year old pre-baby body back. Is that too much to ask? I think not.
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