Can you remember being eighteen years old? Remember how infatuated you were with all aspects of the “body”? At eighteen, you wanted your body to look good, that jet black, tight sweater, that one, perfect pair of jeans that made you wanna fall down, and worship your own bottom. And, you did, said, and accepted some really dumb stuff just to ensure that the body felt good, too.
The cool breeze of the morning has me lost in thought. Maybe it’s me sitting here, sippin’ on my coffee, watching Carrie thrash at Mr. Big with the bridal bouquet he left her holding at the altar, or maybe, it’s the fact that I’m so not eighteen anymore, but I worry more now about the security of my heart than I ever have before.
I don’t want to move, at the moment. I just lean into the softness of my couch, and let the morning air touch me; awaken me. The thought of the broken relationships, and busted up marriages that I’ve been unfortunate enough to witness sits at the forefront of my mind, with the ones that I’ve actually experienced bobbing, and weaving throughout. And I think “If I knew back then, what I know now”!
Like at eighteen, it never dawned on me that by concentrating so much on the flesh, I was neglecting both heart, and spirit. It never crossed my mind how much that neglect would mess with my head, either. So young, so carefree, so not looking out for my own best interest. I take a lovely sip, and I smile. I never thought I’d be able to look back at any of it fondly.
Over forty is different, though. A great cup of coffee, when you’re forty something, can have you dazing off, your mind drifting to places where you would have done things so much differently. Like, you would have been into your body in a much different way. You would have trusted gut instinct, and avoided some huge mistakes. Taking one long sip, and then another, I just sit back, wedge myself into the perfectly comfortable spot on the couch cushion, and I just think about it; all of it.
And the thing is, coming back to Christ didn’t take away my desire to feel, and be treated like a lady. At eighteen though, I didn’t care. That’s sort of the point of the whole “carefree’ thing. But, I still want my body to feel good, just in a much different way. I realize now that everything is connected. So, if I am to be touched, I want it to be by the Spirit of God. And, if it has to be earthly man that touches me, I want the Christ in him, to communicate with the God in me, and vice versa. I need my mind to be loved. I want that. I understand that if my mind feels loved, that will translate to my body, causing a euphoria that, to me, almost seems mythic. “Can this be real? A man equally yoked with me? Whaaaaaa????”. I want to say that one day.
And, if that be the case, why would I ever let him go? I mean no disrespect to anybody who has gone through divorce, or any kind of break up, but I don’t think a dissolution, a piece of paper from the court saying “Blam! It’s over” can kill something like that. That kind of a connection seldom dies. And with that knowledge, he would have to understand that once we made it to that point, we stand before God, and we say “til death us do part”, divorce is no longer an option. God’s gonna bring us through this thing.
The thoughts are beautiful to me. Connect, communicate, spiritual foundations, prayer, love: I tie the words around my heart like a strip of pink ribbon. It’s real to me because God is real. It’s a possibility to me because I know that if He can care of enough for me to send down His Son, just to make sure that I had the chance at an eternal paradise, if He wants me to have it that good, I know that something as simple, and as complicated, as finding the perfect mate for me is not out of His realm of possibility. And, He did what He did for a very imperfect me. And you know, that helps me to understand that whomever He has for me may be totally imperfect to every body in the world, but he’ll be perfect for me, perfect for me because God chose Him out….just for me.
And, I like the thought of that.