It's the way some things that seemed to matter, suddenly don't.
And if your mind immediately jumped to my friends and family, the answer is no. I am not one of those girls, the ones that so eagerly abandon all that was part of their life prior to the moment that the one they want to spend the rest of their days with, walked in. How awful.
I'm talking about the mundane things. Things that used to make me cranky. Things that used to make me worry. All replaced with the soothing calm that my Southern Charmer has brought into my life.
Particularly in one area. My own body image.
I've read enough articles in Glamour, Cosmo and Good Housekeeping to know that in some relationships, men only aid and abed their lady friend's body image woes. Another work of my miraculous medal-- the Southern Charmer does the exact opposite.
I've never been skinny. It's not in my baby-making hips disposition to be so. There was a time when I was beautifully average, but of course thought I was disastrously overweight, one of the tragedies of being a teenage girl. I tried the cabbage soup diet. Dropped 12 pounds via Atkins two weeks before prom and paid the price for the mindset all the way through my sophomore year of college.
It's amazing the guilt that can be associated with eating Pop-Tarts. And I'm really not kidding.
I've eyed the Schwan's catalog with a longing typically associated with Harlequin romance novels. Drowned myself in gallons of water. Counted calories with a freakish accuracy. Skipped meals. Made up for it with Chipotle and Coldstone binges. No matter what the method, there was always that villain sitting in the bathroom corner.
The scale.
In the weeks leading up to Seth's initial visit to Milwaukee, the anguish over what he would think upon stepping off that plane and into my presence was horrifying. Sure our solid communication and faith we had placed in the relationship should be enough, but still. The hours spent at the Y. The beers and bowls of ice cream sacrificed. What if I wasn't skinny enough? My hair too short? My teeth not white enough? My nails grubbily manicured?
What if I wasn't skinny enough?
Early in The Great Seth Saga, an old choir buddy and I got together for dinner and drinks. In the glow of my new romance, we of course got to girl talk. And she said something that stuck with me forever. I'm sure I don't have the exact wording down, but it was something to the effect of, "It took me a really long for me to believe him when he told me I was beautiful."
How sad, that we, God's creation, can forget how beautiful we as human beings are. But as a woman, I'll admit, how easy it is. How easy it is to dwell on the number on the dress. The numbers on the scale. The numbers of calories and fat on the label.
In my almost eight months of dating Seth, while yes, the numbers do in some respect still matter-- after all, it is my duty to keep this vessel God borrowed me in at least somewhat decent shape (if my body is a temple I don't think it should always be overflowing with microbrews and fried cheese)-- in a whole other realm, the numbers don't matter. Seth loves me and my body for what God created it to be, just as He intended.
And for the first time since my hormones started raging so many years ago, at the end of the day, I can't help but feel beautiful.
But as it is, God placed the parts, each one of them, in the body as he intended. If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it; if one part is honored, all the parts share its joy.
-- 1 Corinthians 12: 18, 26
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