“I Am Not My Body!”

As a parent of four grown teenagers and as a youth pastor for many years, I am fully aware of the messages that we are being repeated day by day by our media and “Nip & Tuck” culture.

By Paul Lucks
LBC Youth Shepherding Pastor
 
Though the messages are many, the one that I have probably heard the most is “You are what your body looks like!”

If you are not beautiful, dress fashionably, or bulge with big buffy muscles, you should feel bad, become depressed and consider disliking or even hating yourself.  If you do not have the right size nose, lips, hips or chest size, find a plastic surgeon. If you don’t like your hair color or even the gender God made you, you should change it!

However, this summer I came across an article by Lisa Sandin who is 46 years old, married and the mother of two. It was entitled “I Am Not My body!” and her message really spoke to my soul and caused me as a Christ-follower to rethink what this world is telling me and begin to reflect more upon the message God told Moses in Exodus 4:11-12.

“‘Who makes mouths?’ the Lord asked him. ‘Who makes people so they can speak or not speak or not hear, see or not see? Is it not I, the Lord?’” Or what the words of David say in Psalm 139:13-17, “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous - and how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. How precious are your thoughts about me, O God!” I hope whether you are young or old reading this, that you will be encouraged that God never makes mistakes with us and that whatever lot we find ourselves in “to bloom wherever we are planted.”

Here is Lisa’s article from USA Weekend, March 17-19, 2006.

“I AM NOT my body. But as the media bombards us with images of perfect bodies we can never have, we become convinced we are our bodies. Passing through puberty, into adulthood and now middle age, I’m sure I have wasted an inordinate amount of time lamenting the size of my hips, the gray in my hair and the lines on my face. Finally, as I approach my 50s, I find my parents were right all along: I am not my body.

“I was born in 1959, near the end of the baby boomers. Unfortunately, I arrived without all my body parts fully intact. My left arm is a short stub with a small hand and three fingers, reminiscent of a thalidomide defect. To my good fortune, I picked superb parents who insisted I was not my body. They were fighters who struck ‘I can’t’ from my vocabulary and replaced it with ‘I will find a way.’ They believed that the development of the mind, heart and soul determines who you are.

“My body was not to be used as an excuse. Instead, it became a catalyst.

“My body endured surgery, physical therapy, swimming and yoga. But it was not the focus of my life. I was taught to respect my body and to remember that it was only a vehicle that carried the most important things: my brain and soul.

“Furthermore, I was taught that bodies come in all shapes, colors and sizes and that everyone struggles in some way with the inadequacies of their bodies. Infomercials have convinced me this must be true (although through puberty I found it difficult to believe the girls in the cheerleading squad had any self-doubts).

“I suppose I’ve always known that my birth ‘defect’ shaped my personality and personal philosophy. In my alternately formed body, I learned patience, determination, frustration, and success.

“This body can’t play the piano or rock climb, but it taught the neighborhood kids to eat with their feet, a skill I learned as a child in the hospital. This body learned to tie my shoes, cross the stage to pick up my college diploma, backpack through Europe and change my children’s diapers when they were babies.

“People think I am my body, and some try to treat me with prejudice or pity. Some are just curious. It took a couple of decades, but I learned to ignore the stares and smile back. This body has taught me to appreciate my fellow humans - even the thin, beautiful and able-bodied.

“This I believe: I am not my body. I am my words, my ideas and my actions. I am filled with love, humor, ambition and intelligence. I am a creative spirit, a fellow human walking the planet, who, just like you, is so much more than my body.”