worship.

I went running today.  (You know, my once a week if Riley is cool with hanging out with the wee ones in the afternoon“habit”.)

Before I hit the trail, still in my closet putting on my shoes, I decided again (for the bazillionth time) that I did not like my body after all.  It wasn’t really beautiful.  No matter what I said or what I typed or what I tried to think about true beauty and all that internal beauty stuff.

My shorts seemed silly.  My legs were winter-pale.  (And I am not foolish enough to believe that summer will actually change that.  That’s just not the way my skin behaves.)  My shirt reminded me of my ever-present mental body-image struggle.

But I left the house anyway.

Mostly because running outside, even while being greatly displeased with myself, was better than staying home slug-like on the sofa with three sick-all-day children.

So I started running.  (Too fast, probably.  I have not the experience to control my speed at the start yet.)

I ran.

And a good song popped up on the iPod.  (And that makes such a difference, you know.)

(Good – as in a song that made me forget about me and think about God.  And about peace.  And about power and about healing and hope.)

Before I knew it . . .

I was running faster.

I was breathing harder.

I think I might even have been smiling.  (You might have mistaken it for a grimace had you seen me.  I don’t run pretty.)

And I started remembering.

Truth.

That my body is really

a work of art

a piece of poetry

a machine that is incredible

with its arms pumping

its legs working in unison

its heart beating and powering the rest of me

without my brain even focusing

on the amazing mechanics of it all.

And that

for me

was

worship.

Not worship of me

(I cannot jump to that kind of vanity that quickly)

but

worship

of

Who

made

me.