This has been a tough letter to write, for even though I love you I must confess I never really liked you. I have fought for most of my adult life against your recalcitrant fluffiness. I have scrutinized you for disappointments and examined you for blessings, and have always found you wanting in blessings.
Maybe it was my own poor opinion that made you misbehave, sending the immune system into overdrive and attacking yourself with fervor. I have to admit, I am pretty peeved about this whole Crohn’s thing.
I wrote you a letter in which I confessed all these things, and it didn’t feel quite right. My unhappiness is not where we have met, oh faithful body. You may have caused some discontent, but the truth of our story lies not there but in the fertile fields of creativity and expression.
Anything I have ever expressed, anyone I have ever embraced, have been because of you. I open my mouth to sing: by your trained calibration is is powerful, by your great mystery it is lovely. I want to encourage another singer across a crowded stage – or altar – and my eyes crinkle up into a warm message of pride and reassurance. From the outside I hate how my eyes wrinkle, but they are still my messenger through you.
When my spirit sinks, you collapse. When my heart rejoices, you dance. Because of you I hold and am held. I kiss and am kissed. When I stop observing you and simply inhabit you, you are no longer a liability but my greatest, most irreplaceable asset.
I am sorry that for so long I have only beheld you with my eyes. It is an act of faithlessness to resist loving that which is fearfully and wonderfully made. From here on may I behold you with my heart, adoring you for the things you help my soul express.
Inspired by the “Love Letter to my Body” synchroblog at She Loves.